


Morpheus

by mandrakefunnyjuice



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fantasy, Gen, Multi, Romance, Tranquility
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandrakefunnyjuice/pseuds/mandrakefunnyjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ayah Surana dreams no more. She finds this state to be agreeable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted on FF.Net under this pseudonym. I would appreciate feedback, as of all my fanfiction it's the one I spent the most actual work on. Whether you hate it, love it, wanna marry it, like it but don't feel so strongly about it, want to set it on fire, be kind, rewind. And be sure to drop a comment or two. 
> 
> Note: the romance in this will be highly subdued, unless I'm feeling particularly adventurous. I suck at romance so bad.
> 
> Second note: As of writing this note, I don't know where this story is ending, but I know the places I want to take it. Most of those places heavily involve the Origins canon. But whether or not I get there is not in the foreseeable future, as I may have a change of heart and decide to take this in a whole new direction.

 

* * *

Ayah began on the fifth day of Parvulis, fifth Kingsway in the low language, following a rest period of precisely seven hours. She did not dream. She was not born that particular day, for she had been born twenty years prior and had celebrated the anniversary of this event for every year following that Summerday. Though Ayah could recall the reasoning behind this celebration, it was no longer pertinent, as the existence that had celebrated her birthing had ended on the fifth day of Parvulis, when Ayah began. While no longer in that state of being, the things that held meaning then held no meaning now, as she had a new purpose, and a new outlook on the nature of her world. No longer burdened by the dreams and emotions that other sentient beings shared, Ayah simply began.

She found this state to be agreeable.

Ayah Surana resided at the Circle of Magi, in their tall tower called Kinloch. She had not known any other place and it made sense that she would reside there, having been there before she had begun. There also were people there that she had once known, who looked at her now very strangely. Faces and names faded with her old memory as the new arose; she busied her mind with analyzing each and every thing it came across and recognizing it, remembering it, with perfect clarity. Faces were difficult, since they blended together, and she quickly found it an exercise in futility to attempt to memorize them all. The others like her understood and recommended that she not attempt to memorize them all, instead simply address them all alike and make no outward attempts to distinguish one person from another. Others expected this attitude and were used to it; Ayah reasoned that others would find it less unsettling if she appeared like all the other branded fellows, and the less unsettled people were, the easier it was for her to go about her duties.

Not all faces were alike.

Some she remembered with exactness, forever emblazoned in her mind. A mage named Jowan was specific to her, however when Ayah inquired as to the mage Jowan's whereabouts, she was left bereft of a satisfactory answer. "It is unimportant," the Knight-Commander told Ayah. "Return to your duties."

She could not recall the Knight-Commander's name; it must not have been important. "Very well," she answered in dulcet monotone, and returned to said duties.

Ayah resorted to her old memories and recalled that she had previously aided in Jowan's escape from the Circle of Magi, in addition to the escapes of several other mages. Some had been blood mages, including Jowan. She could not discern why she had done this. It had led to her current state of being.

It was unimportant. Her current state was satisfactory.

Ayah soon discovered the reason behind the strange looks and the lack of answers. She had not thought much of her time before being what she was; she knew that she had been a mage, but it must not have been important, because it didn't pertain to her duties now. She cleaned and organized and mixed potions and found it to be a neutral, and therefore pleasant, existence. Ayah recalled times before when she had been bumbling and uncertain, but all was certain now. All was clearer than the purest crystal. It was rare, now, that she ever found herself at a loss as to how to deal with other people. Ayah was told by Owain, her superior, that when basic interaction fails you, it is wise to think on your time before and reason what you would have done then, and do it. This is because the others in the Tower will continuously mistake you for one of them, not because they intend to, but because they must. They cannot help mistake you for being something like them, because they assume everything around them is a part of their collective experience, sharing their feelings and impressions.

"That is foolish, Owain," Ayah remarked.

"Agreed," Owain said in the same tones, "they are foolish creatures. I find it to be most remarkable that I was once like them. Things are much simpler when you are Tranquil."

"You volunteered," Ayah recalled.

"Yes."

That was the end of the interaction. There was no purpose in continuing it and so it was time for it to end.

Ayah recalled a different face, a face she was not certain what she associated with. This face was kind, naïve, and she had not seen it in a while. She remembered enough about her earlier existence to recognize the sensation in her gut as an echo of what was. She knew that was unsettled by the absence of his face. She did not like it when he was not around. Ayah did not know why, but that was the way it was, and was therefore pertinent to her own well-being.

When her duties were attended to, she inquired of the Knight-Commander his location. He did not give her an answer. This was to be expected, however, duty dictated she refer to the Knight-Commander of the Templars first before seeking outside source. She sought out the First Enchanter Irving, another whose face she recalled.

She recognized the look on Irving's face as bewilderment. There was also lines in his face that were not there before, signs of aging and distress, and a dull sheen to the eyes that seemed more prominent when he looked at Ayah. She did not know why.

"You do not look well, First Enchanter Irving," Ayah remarked.

The bewilderment did not move.

"That expression does not become you and is aesthetically displeasing. You should take better care of your skin, to avoid this in the future." She considered what she had said carefully, and recognized a tone of offence that Owain had taught her to avoid. She knew that as she was, there were others who would interpret her meanings or intentions as something other than they were, because people were inherently foolish. However, Ayah reasoned that the First Enchanter was not so foolish, and knew better. She kept silent for several moments, awaiting the appropriate length of pause to pose the question (social decorum was very important in interaction with the non-brands).

"I have a request, First Enchanter."

"Do you, now?"

The First Enchanter's face was no longer bewildered and instead looked amused. Ayah found this more agreeable. "Yes," she repeated, reciting what she had asked of the Knight-Commander first. "Please tell me where the Templar Cullen is."

There was a pause that was not in social decorum, which confused Ayah. She reasoned quickly this was due to Irving's processing of his own emotion. "And why would a Tranquil mage wish to know that, hmm?" Irving asked her.

"I do not know," she answered easily enough. "I am not a mage anymore. I am only Ayah Surana." Another pause of appropriate length, and Ayah deemed it was time to repeat the question, since Irving had not yet rebuffed her. "Please tell me where the Templar Cullen is, First Enchanter. I would like to know where he is."

Irving rephrased his remarks so Ayah would understand his intent better: "Why do you want to know where Cullen is? It shouldn't matter to you."

"I would like to know where he is, please. It is important."

"Why?"

There was a pause on Ayah's behalf that was not in social decorum, which confused Ayah. "I do not know, First Enchanter. It does not seem logical."

The pause was so lengthy that Ayah began to wonder if she needed to repeat her inquiry again, in case the First Enchanter had forgotten it in his age. She was wary to do so, since proper decorum dictated that a question be not repeated more than once. She need not have wasted the worry, as the First Enchanter told Ayah quite easily enough that Cullen was patrolling the lower levels that evening, and she could find him there, amongst the apprentices.

It only occurred to her much later that Irving had to logical reason to tell her this.

Ayah was excellent at finding things. Not all Tranquil were alike, something that was misunderstood often, and not all Tranquil was as proficient as the next might be at certain tasks. Some were better at crafting, some were better at herbalism, some were more analytical and better at organizing, where all others might have less of a mind for those things. Ayah was an excellent finder, no matter what she was looking for, whether it be hunting down ingredients, rats, or people. She always seemed to happen across the object of her desire, one way or another. It was only a matter of devoting her attention to one thing at a time – compartmentalizing, prioritizing, and so on. She was not a beast of schedule and routine, but a beast of action and motion.

She found this to be atypical of Tranquil, and was debating what to do about it. Ayah knew that it would be more efficient and better, in the long run, if she were delegated to a higher task, something other than cleaning and sorting, and yet she was not certain what task that was. If even such a task existed, she was certain that her Templar overlords would not assign it to her. This was upsetting, and inconvenient.

It was unimportant. She had to find Cullen.

He was patrolling the lower levels as the First Enchanter had reported. Ayah brought his face to mind and it fit the one her memory exactly, although this one was paler and wan. She made a mental note to tell Cullen to eat better when she approached him, because his health was important.

Ayah did not know why it was important. She remembered that he had been important to her old self, something involving an illicit affair and amorous feelings, but she no longer had those things. To her knowledge, it had never been reported to the templars, and was unnecessary as it was all in the past. Those feelings and memories served no purpose for her. He dwelled continuously in the back of her mind, however, and thus she deemed there was something else that was important about him, something she had to discover in order to function properly. Then it would make sense.

She approached him. He did not acknowledge her. She realized this was because he was not facing her and her footsteps were too quiet to detect. The quickest and most efficient way to instigate the interaction, and the better way in the long run, was to force him to start it first, and for that she made a deliberate scuffle with her shoes. She made a mental note to check her slippers for scuffs later and take care of them. She was no longer a clumsy person.

His face was much like Irving's, but more severe and with less signs of aging. Still, Ayah did not recall him looking so old. She cocked her head to the side and eyed him, curious. Perhaps looking at him from another angle would make it appear better?

"A-Ayah?" He paused and seemed to shiver, although the lower level was not as cold as usual. In truth, it was quite warm. It was possible his armor was cold or uncomfortable, but Ayah began to suspect that Cullen was ill. He refused to meet her gaze, which was a sign of unease. "What are you doing down here?" He demanded coldly.

Ayah blinked and recited the greeting she had gone over mentally not moments before. "Hello, Cullen. I came to see you. Are you well? You appear to be ill. I advise you to watch your diet more closely, in case—"

"G-go back to your chores. You don't belong down here."

This confused Ayah. She straightened her neck and analyzed Cullen's face and complexion for signs of illness. If he was at all ill, it was not due to disease or food poisoning, from what she could tell. Then again, she was not the most experienced person on the matter, and determined to later question Owain or one of the others for advice. The only reasonable explanation was lyrium withdrawal. Templars' lyrium intake was not for her to be concerned with, so she put it out of her mind.

"My duties are completed," she told him simply. "I would speak with you, Cullen."

He finally looked into Ayah's eyes, hazel meeting deep brown, and a twisted sort of expression came across his face that Ayah had never seen, and thus could not identify. She did not find it agreeable. "Why?" He asked. "Why are you down here? Go away, I don't need you to . . . to torment me. Just . . . please leave."

Ayah attempted to formulate a proper answer to this. She now determined that Cullen was also psychologically ill, as there was no discernable reason for his rejection of her polite inquiries. She had been careful to select her words, so they did not cause any form of offense, and yet he reacted as if her mere presence was deplorable. "I do not intend to torment. I intend to understand, but I fail in this."

"Of course you do," he whispered, likely not expecting Ayah to hear (and she had very good hearing), "you're Tranquil now. You don't understand anything anymore. You're not Ayah. Just leave."

"I am Ayah Surana," she asserted. "I do not understand why you would say that I am not."

He refused to meet her eyes again, and observing this as another sign of distress, Ayah moved in front of him so that he wouldn't have to turn his head to look at her, making it easier for him. This seemed to upset him more, however. It was terribly confusing. "You're not Ayah. You're nothing but a shell," he spat.

This was anger. Ayah recognized it. Anger, she knew, was dealt with differently in each individual. Some people could not be calmed and required catharsis. Others needed consoling words. Others needed to be met with more anger, to be overpowered. Ayah could not recall seeing Cullen ever angry. Irritated, amused, frustrated, sad, happy, and now pained. She did not remember seeing this expression upon his face before. It was something new. The only thing new that had happened in Cullen's life was her transformation several weeks ago. Was she the cause of this?

"You are angry."

Cullen gave a bitter, broken bark of a laugh. It was a mockery of a laugh, Ayah felt.

"What are you angry with?" Ayah did not understand.

"You wouldn't understand," he all but confirmed. "You don't _feel_ anymore."

"You are wrong," she told him quietly. "I am capable of feeling."

He seemed briefly surprised by her response, but the surprise quickly died and the haunted look returned. "No you're not."

"I do not feel angry," Ayah corrected. She cocked her head slightly to the side to examine the fascinating templar. "These are the feelings you associate with quantifiable sentience: love, happiness, fury, fear, passion, and sorrow. I do not feel them. I am capable of feeling many other things that also qualify as feelings, such as appreciation, relief, and vexation. In addition, I am capable of individual thought and reason. I am still a person, and therefore feel." Ayah grew weary of this topic of conversation and changed the subject. "You are angry. Why are you angry, Cullen?"

He did not answer her, leaving Ayah to conclude whatever it was he was angry about on her own.

It took Ayah several seconds, which was an appropriate response time for someone of Cullen's level of emotional distress. In the meantime, she adjusted her blue robes about her and straightened her stance, brushing a bit of charred elfroot (apprentices did _not_ know how to properly use plant ingredients) off of the flagstone beneath her feet. There was no one else in the circular hallway and she heard no voices, estimating correctly that their privacy would continue uninterrupted.

"You are angry with me."

Cullen did not answer again, but she knew this to be correct, so he didn't need to answer.

"I understand."

"No," he began, raising his voice – this was alarming, as someone was bound to interrupt them if they heard – "no, you don't underst—and you never will, not aga—you, j-just go away. Just leave me."

"You do not meet my eyes," she observed, "because they are upsetting to you, possibly a remi—"

"Stop it," he growled.

"Stop what?"

"Stop—talking! Just . . . you all speak that way, in that horrible, even voice. It's horrible. It's a mockery of everything that you are!" He winced, and corrected, "That you _were._ "

"My tone offends you? I will endeavor to make it more pleasing." Ayah was now truly confused. "I am what your kind has made me," she explained. "If this is horrible, I do not understand why. Please explain this to me."

Cullen would not explain. "How many times do I have to tell you to _**go**_ _away?_ "

This was inconvenient, and beginning to become irritating, but her tone betrayed nothing and was as calm as ever. "I apologize if I have made offense or will offend, but I cannot take orders from you. You are not my superior. I am off-duty, and will go where I whim. I have decided to visit you of my own accord. I do not know why."

He didn't appear to have an answer for that.

They talked for several more minutes. He said nothing more of value, nor did he truly explain why he was upset. Ayah reasoned that it was because of the sun-brand on her forehead – she offered to cut some bangs to cover it up, if it so caused offense, but he said not to. That although she was not capable of feeling anymore, he recognized that she was capable of individual thought and reason, and should not have to conceal her brand because of what she was. Those were not his exact words, of course, but that is what their interaction amounted to. Although Ayah knew such concepts were meaningless to her and her brand, she politely did not remind the templar of this and kindly let him think what he will.

She left explaining that it was time for her to retire, for tomorrow's duties required her to be active at the break of dawn. She gave him recommendations on his diet, offering to confiscate a potion that would improve his health. Cullen laughed harshly but did not smile like she remembered. He told her his illness was just a symptom and there was nothing to fix the cause.

Ayah went to bed unsettled, without much knowing why. It was only mildly irritating. Cullen was not as she remembered him. Cullen used to smile. Ayah did not smile anymore either. They had changed.

It was unimportant. While the templar Cullen slept fitfully in his bunk, plagued by dreams of her, Ayah Surana rested peacefully as she always did, and dreamt of nothing.


	2. II

* * *

Weeks passed, day by monotonous day, and Ayah's life was satisfyingly uneventful. She was assigned to the library and became in charge of re-organizing it en masse. She created a categorical system, followed by alphabetical, and placed a notice by each section dictating how things were to be found and who to ask for help.

She found it . . . vexing . . . when people did ask for help and did not read the notice. She often referred them back to the sign. It was a mystifying assumption that others unconsciously made, as if she did not have better things to do than lead them around like a sheep-dog. Ayah did not find the system so confusing and wondered why the mages could not simply find things on their own. That was, after all, what the signs she had posted were there for, and if they were incapable of reading the signs then they should not move on to books at all. Such a leap in studies would be inadvisable, even for the purposes of practice.

At one point it became such a distraction from her other duties that she sent a recommendation to the First Enchanter to close off the library, to avoid such hassles in the future. To recommendation was denied, much as Ayah anticipated despite the slight chance she determined that it had of gaining approval.

Her late afternoon duties involved cleaning the senior mages' offices, and the First Enchanter's office. This task was almost devoid of effort in its simplicity, and allowed Ayah ample time to ponder.

For the most part, the mages would ignore her as she went about her duties. Sometimes they would make the mistake of asking for her opinion on a matter. She always told them, simply, "I have no opinion." Then they seemed to remember that she was Tranquil, promptly forgot about her, allowing her to return to work unimpeded.

At one point during her cleaning of the offices, Senior Enchanter Torrin was in heated discussion about the Fraternities of Enchanters with Senior Enchanter Uldred, and two other Senior Enchanters whose names and faces escaped her. It was probably unimportant. She had no opinion on the matter, anyway.

"My apprentice is starting to sound like a _Loyalist,_ " one of the nameless mages spat, using the word like an epithet.

"Really?" Torrin marveled, and Ayah detected a hint of sarcasm. 'Reading others,' as the Tranquil Elijah had put it, was a difficult task nigh to the point of impossibility, but Ayah had been improving. "She seemed so sensible before, too."

Uldred snorted derisively. "Loyalists will be the death of us."

"What you suggest is no better, Uldred," the other nameless enchanter retorted in a patient, even cadence that struck a chord of familiarity in Ayah. "If the Circle withdraws completely from the Chantry it would only spell ruin, no pun intended. The Chantry would ne—"

Uldred scoffed, cutting the woman off. "The Chantry doesn't have to like it, Wynne. I don't much care if we have their support or not, the point is independence and freedom from tyranny. You would have us all bound and shackled, no better than slaves in the Imperium? This is Ferelden. This is a country of _free_ men. Mages, ideally, should be no different!"

"Which would work fine in a world composed of ideals," the one named Wynne continued, eyes becoming shadowed in the dim magelight, "but unfortunately, we do not live in one. We live in a place called 'reality' where things never, if they do at all, work out like we plan. The Chantry organized the Circle of Magi with the intention of control without oversight, and without them we are—"

Torrin started laughing. "Dear me, you're starting to sound like a Loyalist too! It seems they're popping up everywhere."

The other nameless mage smiled and chuckled along with him. "Personally, if we're going to escape the Chantry's clutches, I think we ought to do it in style. Blow the tower right up from the ground – make it an explosion they'll see all the way from Denerim!" The other two mages scoffed and Torrin laughed.

Ayah was satisfied with life in the tower, and did not approve of this plan, nor of the chuckling. She stopped suddenly in her cleaning duties, turned to the four senior enchanters and said plainly, "That course of action is unwise."

That brought them all short. They looked to the Tranquil in surprise. "I'm sorry, what?" Torrin spluttered.

"I said, that is unwise," Ayah helpfully repeated.

Uldred shook his head slowly and sighed. "We don't need a _Tranquil_ in on this discussion," stressing the word 'tranquil' in disgust. "Go back to your duties—"

"On the contrary," Torrin said very seriously, holding up a hand to silence his fellow enchanter, "I'd like to hear this. It's a perspective I don't believe I've ever heard. What is unwise, and why, Tranquil?"

Ayah Surana glanced between the four mages, gauging their expectations. "Explosion of the Tower is an unwise venture," Ayah explained. "It is the place that I live in. I would be . . . _distressed_ ," she said in a lower tone, eyes compulsively narrowing, shifting from side to side, "to see it explode. If freedom from the Tower is desired, one may always escape. Provided that one is clever enough to evade templar notice, one may even manage to remain so. There are, however, other methods."

Torrin, intrigued, made a vague gesture with his hand for her to continue. "Such as?"

Ayah blinked. The solution was so logical, so obvious, that if she were capable of pity, she would feel it for these lesser beings. "Increasing production of our goods en masse. Potions, runes, staves, and various enchantments. These items are only found amongst one group of people in Thedas, the Circles of Magi. As such, this one group is invaluable for its commodities. Increase production and others will expect more and demand more; when demand cannot meet expectation because of Chantry law, the consumer population will demand that the Chantry give the Circle its own commercial independence and reduce restrictions on lyrium law, even at the expense of the Templars. Wealth and political power is gained by rendering ourselves a necessary staple of the world economy, and freedom is given by political pressure exercised by outside parties. The Chantry cannot blame the Circle, the Circle mutually cannot blame the Chantry, and it gains its freedom by default." Ayah paused, considering how this topic was relatable to the current discussion about Fraternities. "This appeases all prominent Fraternities out of Cumberland: Aequitarians have no explicit reason to complain, Libertarians gain the freedom they desire, Isolationists will be free to live a life at their own merit, and Lucrosians stand to gain immense profit as the Circle undergoes metamorphosis into a corporation. It is the most desirable outcome." She paused, waiting the appropriate length of time to bring her logic full-circle. "The Tower would also not explode in the process, an event that, as a sentient creature, I am intrinsically opposed to."

The room was silent for several moments as the four mages stared at the Tranquil mage in disbelief. Ayah did not understand why, but if she had, she would have known that Tranquil did not have opinions. Opinions, which are rooted in feeling, which are alien to Tranquil, cannot be made in their state of mind. Ayah did not express her view on the Fraternities out of feeling but out of logic – it made the most sense, and Senior Enchanter had instigated the interaction in the first place. If he was experiencing discomfort, it was his problem.

Like most, however, the mages mistook it for a sign, but of what they could not say. There was an expression in Ayah's eyes that was frighteningly familiar to a few of those present, who had known her before she became . . . _this._ And Tranquil simply did not debate. They were quiet, industrious, and spoke in monotone. Luckily for them, Ayah had been practicing her vocal tone after Cullen had said it upset him and now adopted a more amiable method of speech, faster and filled with arbitrary expression. Admittedly it did not mimic how others spoke and Owain had remarked that it still retained a simulated sound, but it was not entirely disturbing, and the less disturbing others found her, the more easy it was to go about her work.

The four stared.

Ayah stared back.

Several moments of silence passed in the cold stone chamber while the two parties gazed at one another. Ayah dauntlessly kept eye contact while the others looked upon the odd being before them in a careful mixture of fear and wonder. She absently counted seven distinct flickers of firelight from the brazier nearest the doorway.

Torrin laughed uproariously, throwing his dark braided head back. "Well! Who knew the Tranquil were such Lucrosians?" This seemed to 'break the ice' and the other mages chuckled along, all except Uldred who eyed Ayah with renewed interest. She met the Senior Enchanter's gaze unflinchingly and waited patiently until she was dismissed.

Eventually – "return to your duties, will you?" –she was dismissed, and went back to cleaning.

It was an uneventful day.

She related the incident to one of the other Tranquil in the stockroom that day, who informed her for future reference that she was not permitted to intrude on the mages' conversations, despite how logical her points had been. When Ayah asked why, the Tranquil told her it was just rude. Ayah accepted this.

She became disturbed later when she realized she did not know that Tranquil's name or face, as her face and name had blended in with all the rest. She wondered if she would forget her own face soon, but it was unimportant.

* * *

Many more weeks passed. She began to forget more faces, and it did not disturb her. She remembered Cullen's face and the First Enchanter's face, and those were the only two that still held any significance over her old self.

Irving began to look better and Ayah suspected this was because he had taken her dieting advice. She did not see Cullen very often those first few weeks but later he was assigned to guard duty in the library where she spent most of her time, and discovered that he was not looking well. He looked worse than she remembered him. _He_ had not taken her advice, and foolishly so.

"You have not been consuming lyrium," she said one day, guessing the source of his apparent illness.

He did not answer her. This was his usual behavior when she attempted to strike up conversation. It was rare that he would respond to her at all, as he seemed to prefer to pretend that she did not exist. She did not understand this behavior. Entire days would pass and Ayah would go about her duties as she normally did, the monotony of the activity being second nature to her. Cullen would go about his, although far less efficiently than he had before.

Ayah knew that it was odd, for a Tranquil to think on their life before, but she began to wonder. Attachments ran deep and if the source of Cullen's distress was rooted in her, than perhaps her distress was rooted in him. The psychological tie could go both ways. Each time she would politely broach the subject, however, she was ignored.

Ayah Surana discovered that she did not like to be ignored.

It was a subtle thing, the discovery. At one point it crossed her mind that while she was incapable of feeling emotion, she preferred certain activities above others. She knew that she was incapable of having an opinion, but some things in the world seemed to more desirable to her than others, and not all of the Tranquil agreed. They seemed to find her odd, but agreeable. Except for Owain. She suspected that was because Owain did not care, and that did not bother her. The discovery sneaked up on her, and eventually she ascertained that despite all these things being true, there were certain things that she liked and certain things that she disliked.

Everyone had preferences, but genuinely liking something was a foreign concept to a Tranquil. Moreover, since she could not drive the faces of certain people from her previous life from her mind, she must obviously like them, since dwelling on them otherwise would be unhealthy. It was almost shocking, to discover that she liked people. Even _certain_ people. People were an obstruction in the world of a Tranquil – a nuisance that must be either contained or served until they cease their obstructive behaviors. They were objects of pity, because they would never know the clarity of the Tranquil's world, as they were bogged down by their vague conceptions and clouds of emotions.

The realization was a subtle thing, in truth, but it felt more like she had been hit with a large sack of bricks. Metaphorically, of course; there were no real bricks involved. She had been placing a book away, and stepped away from the shelf, and it struck her. She stopped, squinted, and glared at the offending templar-guard out of the corner of her eye. Cullen was ignoring her.

This was not agreeable.

She began to realize that being polite would simply not get through with Cullen. He was atypical of people. She did not fully understand what was special about him or why she singled him out above others (all others were the same – they were all faceless, nameless bumblers who ruined her organized library), but she found herself oddly unbothered by it all. He was important, simply and unconditionally, without complication. Oh, and he was _ignoring her_.

"This will not do," she told Cullen blandly after he refused to look her in the eye for the six-hundred forty-eighth time. It was a reflex, to count such things – the books on the shelf, the steps she took up stairs, the seconds that ticked when her duties became especially tedious. She liked to be occupied. But she couldn't, because Cullen was ignoring her, and that was distracting.

So she dropped a copy of _Fortikum Kadab_ on his foot.

A large one.

She hadn't been intending to be subtle, but she made a secret of it, making sure that no one but Cullen (if he _had_ been looking – again, a glare out of the corner of her eye, a turn of the head, an unconscious shift in behavior). No mages or templars would hear him cry out in pain for his foot. No one to hear him shout.

She found his pain to be agreeable. After all, he was responding to her. That was a vast improvement. Ayah swelled with pride at her actions.

Cullen was not happy with her. He yelled at her, swore, cursed a bit. And then he realized what he was doing and paled, looking much worse off than he had been before. Ayah's pride dimmed, and she became concerned. Her actions had consequences that she did not anticipate. This was not acceptable either.

"Ayah . . ." He began slowly, like he was cajoling it out of a child. Or perhaps it was for his own benefit. Ayah did not know. "Why did you do that? Why did you just drop a book on me?" He looked afraid. Ayah couldn't explain why, but considered it an improvement that he was looking her in the eye and calling her by her first name. Yes, a vast improvement. She corrected her conclusion from earlier and rationalized that if the consequence of causing Cullen pain, reprehensible though it was, resulted in such an improvement, then the pain was good.

"You were not responding to my attempts at social interaction," she explained simply, methodically, as if reciting a report. "Pain is something all beings respond to, for those that are capable of feeling it. I am likewise capable of pain. You distressed me by not addressing me, Cullen." Then Ayah seemed to realize what she was saying, and cocked her head to the side, finding what she said aloud just as odd as Cullen did: "you upset me. I was upset. I responded irrationally. I apologize. That was absurd of me. I intended . . . to hurt."

Cullen seemed more amazed than Ayah at this development. "Yes, yes you did . . . you did."

"I did," Ayah confirmed, nodding sharply. She paused, though it was not because of social decorum. This was a pause that was unconscious. It was rooted in uncertainty. Ayah had not experienced uncertainty ever, not since she began. She dismissed it as it could not have been uncertainty, because that simply did not make any sense, and continued: "do you know why I did such a thing, Cullen? I find I have difficulty explaining it. Perhaps if you speak to me, it will not occur again, since my irrational behavior seemed to be a result of your own."

For the first time since Ayah had begun, the ghost of a smile graced Cullen's face. "I'll try not to make you, uh, angry then." The smile fled when his expression became suddenly quite serious. "Ayah, are you—no, nevermind, silly question."

Ayah cocked her head to the side, examining the templar. "What is your query, Cullen?"

"It's not important."

He was right, it was not important, and Ayah accepted this.

The subsequent week went by without much incidence. When Cullen patrolled the library, Ayah was content to have him nearby, and he did not ignore her anymore when she attempted at conversation or tried to get his aid in putting an item away. It was a satisfactory arrangement. Not once did he ever speak to her first, however, which was of note.

The following week, coincidentally the fifth day of Parvulis, a loud argument was happening in the library between a senior mage and a templar. Ayah cared not for the origin of this argument or its purpose, only that it was happening inside of the library that she was responsible for, and they were endangering the peaceful and orderly atmosphere she had worked to cultivate.

She interrupted them, despite knowing that it was a social faux pas, but since the two were so absorbed in each other, she reasoned they weren't likely to care. "Excuse me," she interjected politely.

The senior mage turned to her. He was elderly, and she could not recall a name to his face – a common thing, for her. "What, what?" He blurted rudely.

"You are interrupting absolutely everyone's studies here with your loud vocalizing," she explained in even, dulcet tones, "and now you must leave. Goodbye." She pointed to the door imperiously.

The templar and the senior mage stared down the Tranquil like she'd grown a second head, although Ayah wasn't entirely clear where she'd received that impression, only that she'd heard the phrase from one of the apprentices. Also, the templar was wearing a helmet and it was difficult to tell what he was conveying, but his body language spoke volumes. He assumed Tranquil were polite and quiet and did not interrupt other people's arguments. It wouldn't do.

Ayah continued pointing at the door. "I will repeat this only once, as is polite of me to do," she announced. "Please leave the library and have a pleasant day."

They went back to their bickering, ignoring Ayah entirely.

Now Ayah, who while was not one for drawing attention to herself, did not like being ignored. When she meant to be noticed, she _meant_ to be noticed, and being ignored when she needed to be seen was unacceptable. She considered her options – she could perhaps convince Cullen to eject the loud couple from the library, but he would not patrol the library until much later in the day. The other Tranquil did not care what happened in the library, and the mages would just find another place to study. Maybe eventually the senior mage and the templar would quit their bickering and would leave of their own accord, which would be nice if that were in immediate option, but it was not. What it came down to was simple: the library was Ayah's responsibility, and this argument was jeopardizing what was under her care.

Since the mage was elderly and she did not want to be accused of negligence if he ended up with a broken arm, she first harshly grasped the armored arm of the templar instead and pushed with her other hand on his shoulder, leading him swiftly out the door. The templar might have objected and stood his ground if he had been expecting the fast action, but he was not, and Ayah ejected him.

"What in Andraste's holy name do you think you're doing, Tranquil?" The templar demanded, confused and outraged. Ayah continued pushing him out into the hall.

"You may return when you are in a less antagonistic mood," she instructed, and released her vice grip on his arm. She snatched the senior mage, albeit more gently, who allowed himself to be led by her out the door in shocked silence.

"Goodbye," she said with a customary wave and quietly shut the door on the stunned duo.

Ayah had not realized that her actions had caused a scene, and everyone was staring at her. She was not aware that she had warranted the attentions of everyone and made a mental note to examine her actions in the future in case they caused a likewise scene. It was an undesirable outcome.

There was nothing to say or do, though, so she returned to organizing the books that she'd left behind and thought no more of it.

She did not hear more of the incident until at least a few days later, late in the evening, when the complaint had apparently gotten to Irving's ears. The Knight-Commander was apparently too busy to deal with complaints against the Tranquil; she considered the peaceful mannerisms of her brethren and wondered why it was that others seem so inclined to dislike them, since they did nothing to offend other beings. Their only desire was to work in peace.

It was simple curiosity, not offense that drove her to submit a missive regarding her own activities, requesting that she be investigated for a breach of conduct of some kind. She of course knew that she had done no such thing, but there was no harm that she could perceive from the simple inquiry. If ever asked directly, she would admit this, but indirect questions she could not help but give indirect answers. If accused of lying in some fashion, Ayah would be appropriately indignant.

Irving, meanwhile, had a disgruntled look on his face.

Ayah made a mental note to observe Irving's facial expressions later. He was quite good at a variety of them. She also made a mental note to ask the other Tranquil for advice and also to question Cullen when she had an opportunity. She knew that she lacked expressions almost entirely and was certain that this was disconcerting to the mages she lived with, which was something to be avoided in a vocation that tied in so closely into their own. The less they were uncomfortable on the whole, the more easily and efficiently the job could be done. (Perhaps this was why they sent in the complaints? Ayah made a note to investigate this later and remand her findings to Owain.)

"First Enchanter," Ayah said as blithely as she could manage (she was still working out the kinks of not sounding so monotone), "you have ignored my dieting advice again. You appear to be unwell. This could also be due to indigestion. Would you like me to brew a potion?"

"No, Ayah, that is not why I called you here," he reassured.

"That is smart, as I am not uniquely gifted at herbalism as the other Tranquil. I have yet to cleave to a single such task, unfortunately. What do you require of me, First Enchanter?"

"Irving is fine," the elderly man murmured, "and I heard about a bit of an incident the library earlier."

"The library is not the place for disturbances. You were misinformed." She paused and in order to avoid the idea she was lying or concealing information, continued, "There was an altercation within the library that I quelled earlier, and this could be what you are referring to." Seeing that Irving motioned her to continue, she did so. "I am told, Irving, that it was the templar Gregory and Senior Enchanter Sweeney involved, which I was not particularly aware of at the time of my actions. My awareness of this would not have altered my actions. The studies of the other mages were interrupted by their argument about burned trousers. I deemed this unnecessary and foolish and wisely ejected them from the library by force, since they did not move when I asked twice politely. To put it unsubtly and in simpler terms," she summarized, inadvertently returning to her standard monotone, "they were disruptive and I kicked them out. Is this report satisfactory, Irving?"

Irving, apparently at a loss for reactions that day, shrugged. He would admit to himself that on the whole, it was more amusing than anything else, but Gregory's reach extended his logic, not that his logic wasn't entirely unsound. It was _not_ normal behavior with a Tranquil and considering the Tranquil in question, Irving felt morally obligated to investigate this matter beforehand before it got, well, out of hand. That was the last thing he needed. He didn't know what her behavior was a sign of, but it couldn't be anything good, if Greagoir was to be believed.

"I don't know what to do with you Ayah," Irving admitted honestly, helplessly shrugging. "No matter what you are or where you are, you cause a stir."

Ayah Surana was confused. She was certain that there was something more to the First Enchanter's tone. She began to suspect that her body was becoming quite tired, as she was unable to properly analyze things. It had been a _very_ long day. "I do not understand your meaning, Irving."

"It's not important." She accepted this. "Firstly, good job for quick thinking, and secondly, I'm glad for the care you apply to the library. It's always in need of a good caretaker."

"It is my responsibility," she replied, tonally deficit. She was too tired to bother being anything other than her natural self.

Irving sighed, as if he'd expected that answer. "I expected that answer, I did," he confirmed, "though I was hoping for another. I don't suppose you care to tell me what exactly was running through your head when you decided to raise the hackles of Greagoir's lapdog and one of my oldest senior enchanters – who has tenure like myself, might I add?"

Ayah carefully considered every part of what Irving had just said. His wording was casual, indicating exhaustion on his part, if the memories of him from her old life served correctly. She was not entirely clear on what Irving was saying, so she focused on the part that was the most confusing:

". . . I was not aware that templar Gregory could transform into a dog. If he is a mage, this is a conflict of interest, and also illegal, as he would technically be an apostate despite living in the Tower's halls. I should hope you arrest him, Irving, as it is idiotic to keep such a liability around, even if it is of the more harmless 'lap' variety."

Irving did not know how to respond to this. He settled for laughing out loud. He couldn't seem to stop laughing – it was just too unexpected, too much. It was nearly something the old Ayah would have said, which did make the pill all the more bittersweet, but that didn't stop him from laughing. Especially when the old man knew that his former apprentice-turned-Tranquil was being completely and utterly honest, as she was incapable of even telling a joke, or even understanding one when it was delivered. Somehow, it made it better. He cackled all the harder.

Ayah was confused again. "I am confused – were you being literal?" She inquired, and Irving managed to nod in-between chuckles. Ayah bowed her head, coming to an understanding. "Forgive me. I was also unaware that tenure constituted the right to disrupt the library's most carefully cultivated ambiance at any given whim – if this is customary, then I was not informed of this at any point during my duties and feel as though it is something I should have known for future reference. Thank you for calling me aside and correcting me on this issue, but unfortunately due to my vast oversight of policies –" Ayah had to speak louder now over whatever Irving was finding that was so funny, which was irritating to her, "I must request that you relieve me of duty, First Enchanter."

Irving managed to calm down eventually while Ayah waited patiently for his response. He paused, took a few calm breaths and eventually wobbled back over to his desk, sitting down. "No," he said, finally responding to her question – he looked her straight in the eye, too, something that Ayah found notable, "not today, I think. This might be the most entertaining development in years. Tell me, did you send that report to Greagoir? I understand his _shape shifter_ has been throwing a hissy fit over the rude actions of a certain Tranquil. _Tranquil_ of all things," he said, more to himself than anything else. Ayah knew she was missing out on something, possibly a private something. "Who would have known, eh, Uldred?"

Ayah was unsure of how to respond, as she was still terribly confused by this conversation and couldn't help but revert. Had Uldred slipped into the room behind her when she wasn't looking? Slowly she turned around to make sure this was not the case.

No Uldred. Ayah blinked. Yes, she was surely exhausted. She wished this conversation would be sped along, since she longed to retire.

"I am confused, First Enchanter. Are you referring to the lapdog? Or Gregory? I assume they are two separate entities that you have confused together, in your mild age."

Irving coughed back another bought of chuckles. "Gregory of course, Ayah. The lapdog is, eh, the same thing." He couldn't quite resist it, now that the terribly bewildered Tranquil was bringing it up again. This was sure to be good, and would definitely get Greagoir's goat – which was more than good as he'd been itching to spice things up around the Tower for a bit. He never expected that spice to come in the form of Ayah, but he supposed that he had also never expected Ayah Surana herself.

"I did send in the report, Irving. I believe now that you have confirmed that those with tenure have the ability to abuse their tenure whenever they desire, combined with the fact that I was previously unaware of this development is proof enough that I am unfit for the library. I also request that the templar Gregory, due his status as a dog, either be executed or at a minimal sentence, be relieved from duty and sent to retire at the Chantry where he may bark in peace."

"No doubt there is a dog house there just waiting for him," Irving mused, eyes twinkling merrily at the flood of mental images that came up. Ayah cocked her head the side, tragically unable to understand his humor but definitely certain there was something she had missed. "I'm told some noblewomen in Denerim enjoy such animals as pets. Perhaps we can pawn Gregory off on a bored Bann's wife; he has been particularly annoying lately. Not that this information leaves these chambers, but I assure you, I will consider it. For now, go back to the library and return to your duties."

Ayah accepted this, more than glad to return to the comfortable tedium of her day to day, despite her weariness. She left without another word.

Irving, for several moments afterwards, debated whether or not to actually hand the missive over to the Knight-Commander. Instead he looked down at the handwriting, delicate and precise. So very little like the meaningless chicken-scratch his old apprentice had unfortunately developed. He had used to tell her that patience came with age and with patience came an understanding of proper legibility. She refused to take the joke and, ever the arrogant elf, told him confidently that the only sort of writing that _her_ people had performed had been etched in stone, or not at all. Everything else was Tevinter-bound, citing the wandering Dalish and the young Eadric as examples. Irving had, at the time, shaken his head and done his best to decipher her illegible notes, to no avail.

The missive was a strange reminder. The same signature was there, and it was odd that it was the same as before. Irving suspected this was more out of logic than a sign of the miraculous return of the old Surana, however. The latter was impossible besides despite the templars' superstitious misgivings. He noted the same left-handed markings but no smears of ink, indicating the kind of work and patience that only a Tranquil could afford to put into anything. It was nothing like the old impatient, impulsive Ayah Surana, which Irving would admit to himself was as disquieting a thought as it was a comforting one – this would reassure those suspicious bigots.

Gregory was not, after all, the first to question Ayah's seeming independence. He'd received the odd report from Owain to the contrary, but so far most everyone Ayah encountered seemed to have one thing or another to say about her behavior. Too 'human.' Too 'life-like.' He hadn't heard another word from the girl about Cullen, despite asking after him those weeks ago, nor had he heard anything from the templar in question. He'd suspected they'd been involved before her transformation, but that was out of his jurisdiction, and in the past besides. Whatever was left of Ayah was causing problems, and that was all that mattered.

Overall he considered this new strangeness of the Tranquil elf to be an odd development. It was neither good nor bad. Nothing more, nothing less. Let the templars wallow in their paranoia.

While the old apprentice would have taken everything with an incorrigible sense of humor, it was strange to note that the new one was doing the exact same thing in an entirely different way, by complete accident.

Irving chuckled merrily a bit more to himself. At least it was entertaining. And with that thought, he summoned another Tranquil hand off to the Knight-Commander upstairs Ayah's professional complaint against herself.


	3. III

* * *

Ayah had heard nothing more of the library incident or the complaint she had made against herself. She did not expect it to cause much of a ruckus; it had been a point of curiosity for her, nothing more.

Akin to throwing a stone into a pool and examining the ripples, Ayah began to test the limits of her actions. She pressed the boundaries of Tranquil behavior in order to examine their effects on others. She never did anything that was beyond protocol, but began to adopt more normal behavior mechanisms, and discovered the art of white-lies. Over the following weeks she would change up her own behaviors, adopt more animated mannerisms, and would speak in less even tones. It was intriguing to see the varied reactions amongst the mages and the templars.

Cullen, in particular, seemed pleased that she was attempting to be more 'normal.' Ayah was not aware that her behavior was anything but abnormal but if Cullen was feeling better, then she supposed that it would do no harm to let him think what he will. She preferred it when Cullen was not sad.

Ayah still pondered the nature of her fascination with the templar and eventually assumed that it rooted in the activities of her old life – their clandestine meetings at dark were easy for her to recall. She suspected that Cullen sought no such reenactment, so torn was he from the feeling known as 'guilt' due to Ayah's condition.

The concept of guilt was puzzling to her and she determined to pursue its meaning, even as it vexed her. She wondered vaguely if Cullen desired reassurances and platitudes from her, but he always rejected them when offered. Guilt was the root of this baffling behavior. It was truly a mystery. Still, there in the back of her mind, as a silent presence he dwelt.

Ayah continued as she was for some time. It was quite remarkable that Owain and the others had not thought to do the tests that she had been doing – she promised to share the findings of her social experiment, and they were eager to see what she would come up with. Or rather, as eager as one of the Tranquil become, which is rather mildly interested, but still apathetic.

Eventually, however, it had to come to an end. Ayah was a bit startled that she had not considered there would be an end to her experiment. It was continuous, ongoing, unstopping, forever. It would last the remainder of her expendable life. The concept that her erratic new behavior might be mistaken for something other than what it was – innocent social experimentation – and would have consequences, was intriguing to Ayah. More intriguing was that she herself had not foreseen this. She usually prided herself on expecting the unexpected, as it were.

Cullen had come to her instead of the other way around; this was surprising in and of itself. What he had to tell her was even more unsettling. Ayah Surana did not like being unsettled.

"Cullen," Ayah stated blandly, "that does not make any sense. It is likely that I would have heard of such a thing before."

"Ayah," he began desperately, and Ayah was somewhat surprised by his tone. He gazed into her eyes and she listened, since he only did that when he was being very serious. "Listen to me. It's not . . . they don't tell the mages about this. If they knew, well, it would end badly. They might get the hope that there's some coming back from this and there isn't – once you're branded, there is no going back."

"I do not wish to go back. I am content."

Cullen winced, which forced Ayah Surana to rethink her statement, since it had caused him some distress. He shook it off, and she put it out of her mind. "But sometimes wi-with particularly strong mages, or with people with strong personalities, they can leave pieces l-like tendrils behind in the Fade, that can latch o—"

"You are suggesting myself as a likely candidate," Ayah interrupted, the realization hitting her. Her eyes narrowed as she thought of this. "I am one of the Tranquil that require re-branding. Have I been marked?"

Cullen nodded, leaning against the cold stone wall, the links in his chainmail clinking. He appeared to still be ill, but he did look slightly better, which Ayah considered good. She had not been forced to drop any books on him in the past month and he had not ignored her, even going so far as to occasionally indulge her in idle conversation. Ayah was unsure if they were what others might call 'friends,' for she had none of those, but she did appreciate his company insofar as he was willing to offer it. She had begun to perfect the art of small talk vicariously through Cullen, although she suspected that these conversations were far from normal – for the most part, he attempted to get her distracted and push her away while she pushed back with equal or greater force until he simply could not ignore her anymore. It sorted itself out into a satisfactory arrangement. Ayah preferred things to remain as they were, but knew that it too, would come to pass.

She admitted that she did not expect it to be in this fashion, despite her prepared nature. She had not heard of Tranquil that required a second branding, but it did make sense – not all Tranquil were alike. Some were more docile than others. She did not consider herself docile anymore, after having come to the realization that she was somewhere betwixt her former life and this next one, which began on the fifth of Parvulis.

The realization had been gradual in its coming. She did not wake up one morning and discover that she was different – it was the culmination of several weeks' idle thoughts and moments that the passage of time formed seamlessly into the semblance of the self. Tranquil knew themselves as individuals, but they were individual cogs in mechanism of surpassing vastness, far beyond their singular control. There was no identity beyond that which others attributed to you. Tranquil were not singular – they were tools of the templars, and they were content in the security of this knowledge.

Ayah had known for a great deal of time that she was not only an individual, but also singular, and not a part of a machine. She was whole. Tranquil were not. Her unnecessary introspection and social experiments had resulted in a resolution of the self, which was not the same Ayah, but a different kind of Ayah than the self-that-came-before. She did not think upon her mage-self except when accessing old memories, as mage-Ayah had no place in this Ayah's worldview. Other Tranquil thought only of the now, and the task before them. For Ayah, there was the now, and also the future. It was a bewildering concept that both enticed and worried her, which were both unknown notions to her. It was not uncertainty, as there was no uncertainty in the mind of a Tranquil. It was a new sort of certainty, different than the unwholesome one her cloudy-minded peers ritualistically experienced. Ayah knew only perfect clarity while they fumbled in the dark, weak, small, and unknowing. If she knew how to pity, she would pity their ignorance.

Ayah could also admit that the fact that Cullen had come to her with this was surprising. He was breaching duty by informing her of this. She would not report it, as that would be inconvenient, but was curious as to why he had done such a thing when she knew he held some distaste for her. She wanted to know why.

"Why have you informed me of this development, Cullen?"

His eyes met hers again and something passed through them that Ayah did not catch. "Because," he said wearily, and then sighed, his shoulders falling under some great invisible weight. Perhaps it was guilt? Guilt was so pointless and confusing. "Because you're not like them. The other Tranquil."

"No, I am not," she agreed easily. "We are not all alike."

Many emotions crossed his face and Ayah counted them as they passed, utterly fascinated. She had never seen such conflict in an individual. Cullen was unique too. "Maybe," he said softly after several moments, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I'm reading too much into it. I don't know anymore. But you're still . . . you. You're still Ayah. You may not know it but you remember being her, you have her face, the way you move, how you sometimes tilt your head to the side like a—yes, exactly like that," he nodded as she cocked her head, like a bird. "It's still there. I can see it. It's nothing but a shadow, but it's still there. Call me an idiot for clinging to it, but I can't just let go. I can't let that happen to you again, selfish as it is. I-I . . . I can't go through that again."

Ayah tilted her head to the other side and mulled this over.

She had been selected for a re-brand. According to Cullen, being selected for a secondary brand was not entirely uncommon – for some Tranquil, the initial severing of the ties into the Fade was not enough. With particularly strong-willed individuals or those with particular talents in magic, they may leave imprints behind. Blood mages and those with a mastery of magic dealing heavily with the Fade were often candidates. While they were still Tranquil, echoes of their former lives still remained in the Fade – the ties that had been severed still had a few tendrils left, floating about in the semblance of an identity that manifested back in this reality as odd mannerisms or strange behavioral patterns.

Such was the case now with Ayah. She had not thought of herself as a statistical outlier, as a deviant, one who was out of control or beyond the norm; she knew that she was not as other Tranquil, but was unaware that this was a problem for others. She was content with her way of life and did not wish this to change or to become more 'lifeless', as Cullen put it, than she already was. She naturally desired to reject the brand, but as for how to do this was beyond her.

Ayah was not capable of disobeying the templars. If they chose to re-brand her, she would submit, as she was not a disobedient girl. However, she _was_ capable of obfuscating them. It was the only way for her to continue her way of life and still please her superiors. Ayah Surana would have to lie.

She did not find the idea of lying disagreeable. In truth, she had been telling 'white lies' for some great deal of time now, but had not classified them as true lies. She had been merely concealing facts, mussing truths. Pretending that she cleaned this and that to see if she could get away with it. She was impressed with the number of ridiculous things that people supposed about her – it was nigh inconceivable that a Tranquil would ever lie. It gave her much leeway. The others had been very impressed with her findings. She had not told them that being around Cullen had taught her to lie; when he ever asked her how she was doing, or how she felt – which he rarely did – Ayah always lied. She told him she was content.

Of course, she was not. She had not been content for some time, up until that moment.

She met Cullen's eyes again, feeling truly certain for the first time since Parvulis. She recognized in retrospect that her mind had been fogged by memories, which had given her doubts. There was no conflict in her now, no, it was all quite clear. Hindsight was always clear and it was hard to understand how it could ever have _not_ been so clear.

"Thank you for informing me of this, Cullen," Ayah said, attempting for his sake to put an emotion she did not feel in her words. "Your desire is not selfish. I am appreciative of your concern. I do not wish to be re-branded either."

"Me neither," he admitted. And neither of them had lied in this. He knew that she was different as well as she did. She found that she appreciated it, in the way one appreciates an unexpectedly convenient or easy thing, that Cullen chose to acknowledge her the way that she was. Ayah knew now that due to their prior association, he would never be able to accept and enjoy her fully in her current state; he would never be content with her as she was, and because of that, neither could she – at least not completely. His approval was unfathomably important to her. That he had now chosen to make the distinction between now-Ayah and old-Ayah was significant, although Ayah did not know precisely why – she did not have a name for the concept. However, concepts such as gratitude and joy were meaningless to Ayah as she was now, and she was content with that fact. That was all that mattered.

Sometime later, Cullen told her that she was to be taken to the Harrowing Chamber within the week and tested there. What such a test entailed, he either didn't know or didn't say. Ayah was unbothered since there was nothing that she was not prepared for. Even before she had begun she had been excellent at improvisation, and even better at planning. And that was what she was doing – Ayah was planning for a way out, a way to trick the templars, to convince them of her usefulness in her current state; failing that, there were always alternatives and fallbacks.

Yes, Ayah had a plan.

She looked up at Cullen and gave him a very non-Tranquil smile that she had been practicing in front of a mirror. He was sufficiently astounded, which pleased her. "Do not worry, Cullen," she assured him in her best placating tone. "All will be as it should be."

"Will it?" he wondered bitterly, pushing himself off of the wall he was leaning on. "Sometimes I wonder."

"It will," she said simply, "because I have a plan. And I will be fine."

He looked at her rather helplessly and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, muttering under his breath. "Why do you have to be so . . . so . . ."

When he did not finished, Ayah waited for the appropriate length of pause before asking, "why do I have to be so what, Cullen?"

"So . . . you," he finished.

This sentence did not make sense. Ayah's brow crinkled as she tried to work her mind through that mangled statement. "I do not know what you mean. I am so me? You are making less sense than that dog of Greagoir's." She frowned ever-so-slightly at the memory of that irritating shape-shifting templar liar. "He makes the least sense of _**all**_."

"No, I – wait, Greagoir has a dog? Since when?"

Ayah nodded tersely and folded her arms as she thought more of the distasteful lapdog Gregory. "Yes. I was unaware of his status as a dog until Irving informed me. Irving is an intelligent person in high regard and I do not have reason to believe he would lie – I am troubled to inform you, Cullen, that your fellow templar, Gregory, is indeed a shapeshifting canine. You will recall that he is the one that caused such a fuss with Senior Enchanter Sweeney in the library? I was told later he was a lapdog of Greagoir's. I now consider it likely that the ruckus he caused was due to a territorial issue, as is common of lesser beasts."

Cullen really didn't have much to say to this. He opened his mouth several times and closed it, giving Ayah the impression of a drying-out fish. Words having failed him, he started to laugh, helplessly and openly. Ayah had never heard him laugh, at least not in this life. It was a peculiar thing, but it did not last long enough for her to analyze. He cut himself off and fixed Ayah with a reprimanding glare. "Okay, you see, Ayah, these are the kinds of things we have to avoid. If people start to think you have a sense of humor, you're not going to pass the test."

"I do not jest," she insisted seriously. "Gregory is a lapdog. Irving told me. He would _not_ lie to me."

"I, uh, I think you should, um, talk to Irving about that." He coughed a few times to avoid bursting into laughter again and then looked around rather meekly, hoping and praying to the Maker that no one had overheard their conversation. Seeing as they were in the basement, however, he didn't see how.

He glanced back to Ayah, feeling suddenly as if he were a piece of glass perched on a high precipice, inches away from shattering. If it had been anyone else on the face of the planet, he wouldn't have even thought about disobeying Greagoir's orders. If it were literally anyone else, he wouldn't have even bothered. Perhaps that made him selfish. Perhaps it was a sin. Maker knew it wouldn't be the first sin to his name, Cullen could admit that much. A Tranquil's rebranding was not something to bother himself with. It was a trifle. It was just this unfortunate thing that sometimes happened, and like the Harrowing it was his duty as a templar to deal with it whatever the price.

Some prices were too high. Cullen was willing to admit to himself that most of him was doing it because of guilt. He never even considered before Ayah came along what would happen if someone he knew became Tranquil. Yet he couldn't even classify Ayah as a Tranquil in his mind anymore, despite the ominous red sun burned into the soft tan flesh of her forehead – she was something new, something a bit frightening, and more importantly, something wearing the face of her former life. Most of him would agree if he said he was trying to spare what was left of her from what she'd become; he hadn't lied when he said he couldn't ignore the flashes of personality, the spark that sometimes lit up those dark eyes. Even before she was Tranquil, when she betrayed the Circle by helping those _blood mages_ behind his back, he couldn't find it in himself to be angry. Maybe that too, was the guilt talking. Or maybe it was too hard to stay angry with her; he could also admit to himself that if he'd only known, maybe he could've stopped her before it all came down, but at the end, she just hadn't trusted him enough. The pain of that was almost as bad as losing her to the brand. Now he had the lovely vision of her glassy-eyed gaze beneath a red sun to keep him company whenever he closed his eyes.

He pushed the painful memories out of his head. She meant too much. He wasn't about to lose her again. He couldn't take it. That was all there was to it. If not for the sake of his own conscience, then for the sake of this new Ayah before him.

All the while Ayah, oblivious to the inner turmoil of her companion, cocked her head to the side and regarded him curiously. The faint light and shadowy alcoves of Kinloch Hold did little to flatter his complexion. She wondered absently what he would look like outside, in the sun, which she had never seen. She would never leave this Tower, so she would never know. He would also look very attractive in the color blue, she decided. Blue with gold trim maybe, but nothing too opulent. Elegance didn't befit him, unless it was casually applied. Red would be nice as well, even green, but definitely not brown or purple or yellow. Those would be _wretched._

When they said goodbyes, Cullen disappeared into the Templar's quarters and Ayah, finding herself a rare free moment, went directly to the library. Any good lie was based in truth, and Ayah knew that before she could fight to keep her brand intact, she had to find some fire to fight with. It was only logical.

It was time for research.

* * *

"Describe your duties so assigned."

"I clean, organize, and categorize mage materials in the stock room under my superior Owain. I was recently in charge of administrative work, and before then, janitorial. I have no other duties."

"Do you find your activities satisfactory?"

"I do not."

There was a slight stirring.

"Elaborate," the Knight-Commander spoke up.

Ayah paused, eyeing the Tranquil before her. She had never met this Tranquil before. The girl must have been a recent addition. She found it peculiar that they found another Tranquil to test her, but understood that it was likely due to the unbiased nature of her kind. They had no opinion one way or another on anything, even each other. They were all perfectly objective. It made sense. She could not help but wonder, however, if the Tranquil in front of her was satisfied with _her_ task, but that thought served no purpose, and so Ayah put it aside.

But why, a small voice in the back of Ayah's mind had to ask, are they so surprised? Why am I different? Are we dangerous? Do we frighten them? The sudden volley of questions confused her.

"I am ill-suited to janitorial, administrative, and organizational tasks. Those are not my primary skill sets. I have a keen mind and athletic build better suited for other work."

A look that Ayah recognized as curiosity crossed the Knight-Commander's face. Perhaps he had been speaking with Irving. "What work might that be?"

Ayah blinked, suppressing the urge to shrug. It was strange, as shrugging was an unnatural thing to do, and yet she had grown so accustomed to appearing normal that it was an exercise to not be. Ayah knew that this is what she had been striving for all along, and felt a surge of pride, despite quickly suppressing it.

"I have yet to discover that, Knight-Commander," she said blandly, "but I will inform you upon its discovery." The truth was that she did have an idea – several – all as a result of her late-night library search for records on Tranquil activities in other Circles. It had been most enlightening. Now was not the time to bring those to light, though.

A moment passed in brief silence. The Tranquil before her continued in the questioning. Ayah adjusted in her seat out of discomfort. She did not like sitting still. She preferred to be active. "You were involved in a discussion with four senior mages a ten-day ago," the Tranquil reported. "Please describe the conversation you engaged in with said mages, and summarize your remarks."

Ayah recalled the moment in time. She ran through her answer in her head, wondering at the relevance of the incident, and determined to choose her words carefully. "I overheard a conversation between several mages discussing the Fraternities of Enchanters. Among the topics discussed were the nature of mages within the Circle, and the Circle's tense relationship with the Chantry of Our Lady. Autonomy of the Circle appeared to be universally desired by the mages present. One of the mages suggested to his fellows that the Tower should be eradicated in an explosion that, I quote, 'could be seen from Denerim.' I interjected because this topic distressed me, as the Tower is my home."

There was another stirring amongst the few templars present, as well as Irving and Senior Enchanter Uldred, who was present for reasons Ayah had yet to determine. She assumed that he was, in some small part, responsible for this hearing – but to what end? What was his goal? Did it matter?

The Tranquil before her blinked. Ayah blinked right back. "Please explain why you chose to interject, when you knew not to engage mages unless first engaged."

Ayah felt a strange and previously unknown urge to throttle the Tranquil before her.

She paused, holding her breath.

She did not know where on Thedas that urge came from. It was quickly quelled. It had startled her greatly.

Ayah mulled it over briefly before considering next how to answer her question – although she made certain the pause in thought was not overlong, as she did not want to arouse suspicion. She spent no longer than what was the customary pause in speech before deciding that victimizing herself and vilifying the mages was the better course of action, as it redirected the negativity.

"I engaged because I take issue with destruction of the Tower. I am still unsure if the suggestion was entirely in jest or not. I am told by Owain that I possess a difficulty at discerning humor and the concept known as sarcasm. Regardless, I told the mages present that destruction would be unwise, and offered an alternative, which I am certain they have enlightened you upon, otherwise this conversation would not be taking place. Had they continued in their discussion I am certain that the results would have been catastrophic for my continued existence, the existence of the Templars, the Tower, and the existence of all mages, Tranquil or not. A breach in minor protocol was necessary."

"Your point is well-received," the Tranquil affirmed. Ayah nodded.

A movement from across the darkened Harrowing chamber caught in the corner of her eye – a flash of light as one of the templars shifted, folding his arms. She found it curious that they continued to wear armor, even this late in the day, even with no danger present. She supposed that it was only part of their motto, 'Constant Vigilance.' Irving muttered something under his breath to his counterpart, the Knight-Commander. Ayah strained to hear and struggled to remember the Knight-Commanders name, but came up blank. Every time it was spoken to her, it seemed to slip her mind. It must not be a very memorable name.

The interrogation continued for some time. It was really quite boring. The Tranquil asked her fellow Tranquil about all kind of pesky inane details. Ayah noted one detail that was omitted – Cullen. He was not among her audience nor was he even mentioned in passing. She was rather . . . grateful for that. Of all her behaviors, if Ayah were to classify any of them as "erratic," it would be the fascination she had for that one templar.

Ayah Surana also wondered at the objectivity of the Tranquil before her. Her questions were not probing, nor were they particularly accusative or malicious. They were gentle and easy enough to lie about. Was this because she had been ordered to by someone? Perhaps Irving? And what was Uldred doing here? It would explain Irving's presence, but not the other's. Or perhaps this Tranquil possessed a loyalty to her own kind. It would not be unheard of. Ayah had once reprimanded a mage in the Tower who had been unkind to one of her brethren – the reprimand was deserved for a mistake he made in mixing a potion, but she had also enjoyed it because of his attitude towards the branded. She surmised this arose as another quirk of being different.

Then came the final question. It was a simple question, and Ayah was unprepared for its stunning simplicity.

"Ayah Surana. Are you capable of lying?"

How was she to answer this? With a lie? Or with truth? Which would be more harmful? Was a white lie something so completely unbelievable in a Tranquil? The ability to say one thing and think another is what separated them from the animals, is it not? Then again, Tranquil were considered little more than furniture in the Tower. Tables that could talk and move. Chairs that accepted orders. They were not people, they were not even animals. They were seen, not heard. Ayah did not consider this to be an unjust or undeserved assessment; it was no mystery where this common opinion was based in. Perhaps lying, in this light, might be the better option.

"No," she lied. "I am not. I obey."

There was a stirring in her audience. She wondered if the lie had been seen through. It did not bother her, although she suspected it probably _should_ have. It made her feel strange.

Slowly and stiffly her Tranquil interrogator stood up from her chair, unfurling her lanky body and stretching. At a nod from Irving, Uldred left the room, followed by the tranquil mage Knight-Commander's word. Uldred's brief presence remained a mystery to Ayah; his footsteps echoed outside the hall as he left down the stairs and out of earshot. Ayah could, however, hear the soft padding of her interrogator's feet out in the hall, where she had stopped to eavesdrop on the proceedings. "Curious," Ayah murmured aloud. It was unlikely the girl had been ordered to do so – at least by someone currently within the Harrowing Chamber. Ayah could not guess. It was unimportant.

The few templars in the room fanned out as the Knight-Commander clanked forward, steel toe hitting tile in a biting, grating way. It was an irritating sound. More bafflingly irritating was the way Irving slunk back into the shadows, clearly a sign of withdrawal . . . or consent.

"Ayah Surana," the Knight-Commander barked. Ayah stared at him, eyes glittering with interest. "By the power vested in me by the Chantry of Our Lady Andraste, you are to be submitted to the brand for the greater good."

His voice was loud, sonorous, and familiar, as were the words he spoke. They struck an old chord in her. He had spoken them on the fourth of Parvulis, just before Ayah began, and now he was repeating them, consigning Ayah to her doom once more. It was the first thing about this man that had stricken Ayah as familiar. She searched her memories for a name, a name that had been oddly elusive these past months since the fifth of Parvulis. _Greagoir. His name is Greagoir. He is not a stranger anymore._

"Knight-Commander Greagoir," Ayah queried in the even tone of the Tranquil, belying her inner turmoil, "I do not understand. I have a brand, and it would be useless to place another on me."

"The re-branding of the Tranquil is an old practice," he explained patiently. His eyes were bored. He was reciting this from somewhere. Ayah absently wondered how many times Greagoir's duty had forced him to say these words to Tranquil like her. Or was she not unique? "Some Tranquil do not take to the brand naturally, leaving behind fragments in the Fade. The connection is not wholly severed, and for those a second branding is required over the first."

Ayah realized now that this was inevitable, and in the face of inevitability, there was only one thing to do: submit.

"I do not wish to be re-branded."

Ayah regretted the words before they came out. She had never experienced regret before. All of the new experiences she had this day were beginning to tire her. First the homicidal rage at her interrogator, now this? When would it end? Maybe re-branding _was_ the better option, if it would end all of this tedious hassle.

"Your opinion is irrelevant, Tranquil," Greagoir informed. His tone was firm, but not unyielding. Ayah remembered Cullen telling her once that terrible things are often done in the name of duty, but we do them anyway, because they are necessary. For the Greater Good. She, of course, had to argue with that. (Her self-preservation instincts required her to admit that if the Greater Good came at her own expense, she wanted no part of it.)

"I have no opinion," she needlessly reminded him. She _was_ a Tranquil, after all. "I am merely observing the uselessness of a second brand as a gesture. I was made Tranquil as punishment for my actions. I have done nothing to warrant a second and equal punishment."

The Knight-Commander shifted, hands now linked behind his back. It was an officious and intimidating stance that was wasted upon one such as her. Habit, maybe. "This is no punishment."

"Then I am confused. Is it a reward? Brands are not often rewards except for those who do not wish to endure the Harrowing, and I am no longer eligible for the Harrowing."

Greagoir was silent and Irving stepped forward instead. "No punishment or reward, Ayah," he said gently, "nothing of the sort. Just a necessary action we must take, for your sake as well as our own."

Ayah stared blankly at him, her facing giving nothing away to the sudden, foreign desperation she experienced inside. She could not submit. That was unacceptable. And Irving's tired, even tone was irritating her. Was this how she sounded to others? How loathsome. This must be rectified. Ayah grasped at something, anything, an idea. The research the other night. How could she introduce this in an innocuous way? How could she get rid of this?

"The Rite of Tranquility is an _alternative_ to punishment," Greagoir said suddenly, and his tone sounded like he was objecting to something. Perhaps it was Irving's attitude. The two had never quite meshed as leaders. Ayah watched their silent interaction with great interest, thousands of micro-expressions crossing their faces. Perhaps she wouldn't have to do anything at all – perhaps they would do all the convincing for her by themselves. Wouldn't that be nice, marveled the new and unfriendly, tiny voice in the back of her mind.

Meanwhile, Greagoir was red in the face. "It is not the—"

"Harrumph!" Irving grunted. "Tell that to the apprentice mages, Greagoir. If it is an alternative, it's only the lesser of two evils – take the Harrowing and risk the potential of failure, or losing one's very identity. A choice young minds shouldn't have to face."

Greagoir became even redder and Ayah imagined that if she had been any other situation, now would be an appropriate time to smirk. "And in the face of Aeonar? Which would you choose, Irving? Don't speak to me of lesser evils. Need I remind you that _this_ one masterminded the greatest breach in security this Tower has faced in the last fifty years! She would have faced the gallows were it not for a certain mage. Tranquility was a _mercy_."

This seemed to quiet Irving down, much to Ayah's distress. And here she was counting on the old man doing all her convincing for her. "I'm afraid, old friend, that I must agree."

It was time to bring this discussion back to order. "I believe I have an alternative, Knight-Commander."

Greagoir looked to Irving, who gave only a noncommittal shrug. He sighed. There was a gentle clattering somewhere behind him from one of the templars present, when someone shifted in place impatiently. Ayah could sympathize. This interview was taxing. "I'll indulge," said Greagoir. "What alternative might that be?"

Ayah took a deep breath. This was it. If she could not convince them of her value with this, then she would be consigned to a second brand and would return to the mindless cog she had been before. All of her experiences would be lost. As annoying as her experiences tended to be, she did not want to lose them. They were unique. They belonged to her. Cullen did too, and she would lose him. She would lose all that was hers. It was simply and purely unacceptable.

"I am useful in my current state. While I am not under the impression that I am worthy of a secondary brand, I do believe that I differ from other Tranquil because I do not suffer the lack of independence that they do – Owain and I agree that I am most unlike the others. I possess the same clarity of mind and focus of task that they do, but I am bored by menial labor and am ill-suited to administrative work, due to my forceful approach to such situations. I am capable of herbalism and rune-crafting, but do not possess a particular talent for this. My talents, I believe, lie in a different area.

"In the records of the Antivan, Nevarran, and Kirkwall Circles, there have been Tranquil that were frequently assigned guard duties when the Templars were absentee, having been trained extensively in combat. Further, there were several remarkable instances that indicated Tranquil had been trained for the specific task of training other templars in combat. I can cite the dates if you wish. This is the task that I believe I am suited most for. Failing that I request a transfer to Denerim, where I may shopkeep, since I am told I am slightly more personable than some of my other brethren." At least where templar-hounds named Gregory and enchanters named Sweeney are not involved, she silently added.

As Ayah ended her speech she examined her persecutors, gauging their reactions. The other templars in the room were clouded in shadow and their reactions obscure to her. Greagoir's posture was less rigid and he seemed a little impressed, if unaffected. Irving fidgeted, his eyes now twinkling under his bushy eyebrows with the onset of an idea. This was good. All she had to do was persuade one of the two, and the other would cave. That was their weakness. Together the Circle's leaders would stand, but divided they would crumble.

"An interesting argument," Greagoir finally spoke, "and further proof that you require a secondary brand."

"I do not wish to be re-branded," she said firmly, eyes squinting ever so briefly into a glare. She relied upon the hope that he had not witnessed her brief lapse. "If it is your final judgment that I am to be re-branded, I will submit, but I will contest this until such a judgment is rendered. I am more useful as I am. To consign me to a secondary brand and force me to relinquish what little independence I have as a person would be a deplorable waste of resources. I am different, but still bound to the Circle. I wish to serve it in a better capacity, nothing more. Is there something inherently wrong or morally reprehensible about this desire?"

The silence was deafening. Greagoir did not speak, and neither did Irving. They merely shared glance. Their faces were difficult for Ayah to read. Her time with Cullen had helped her ability to read people, but they would always be somewhat a mystery to her.

Finally, Greagoir seemed to sigh. She did not understand the meaning of this gesture. He turned to her, looking for a brief instant very, very old. She knew that both of the Tower's figureheads were elderly, but never before had either so quite looked their age. Ayah suspected it was the shoddy lighting in the Harrowing Chamber. The magefire from the braziers lining the walls was low and poor. She made a mental note to submit a recommendation for renovation up there.

A dull numb filled her while she waited those few seconds for either man to speak. Ayah knew that if she were a mage, it would be terror and fear that would fill her, but instead she felt only the absence of it. It was not a sad thing. She was relieved she could no longer experience guilt, fear, or sadness. From what she had observed in others, they looked like such troublesome things. Still, she wondered if this coherency, this realization of what she felt and did not, the capacity to know and recognize such things – if it too, would be burned away for a second time.

Her memory was perfect. All Tranquil had perfect memory. Ayah knew even before her branding she had a precision memory. She had always been excellent at remembering details. Would this change with a second brand? Would she begin again? Was there any use to these questions? No, there was not. Ayah wished these all these pointless, exhausting thoughts away. Independence was so tiresome. Maybe a second brand would be a good thing, if it would erase all of this new conflict from her mind.

Then, Greagoir spoke, his deep voice reverberating in the Harrowing Chamber and filling every shadowed nook and cranny: "My decision has been made."

* * *

9:29 Dragon, 4th Umbralis

_I am Amelia, a Tranquil of the Circle of Magi in Ferelden. Documentation is important to any scientific endeavor; I have been tasked by my superior, Owain, to record my findings. The relevance of this record is currently unknown to me._

_The events are as described:_

_Approximately five hours ago, I was chosen at random from a pool of potential interviewers for the simple task of interrogating another tranquil for the possibility of a secondary brand. I was told which questions to ask and which to omit by Owain, who inserted himself into my affairs._

_The interview in question was conducted without incident. I had been ordered before the interview to listen at the door for its conclusion, and I did so. My superior appeared relieved when I informed him of the result._

_I have been told to record my impressions and thoughts, which are as follows:_

_Owain's reaction was strange and question-begging, as were his instructions. Surana conducted herself in a logical and sane manner; it did not occur to me at any point that she was peculiar in any fashion – Owain told me otherwise, but I believe his assumption was incorrect. Upon being informed by the Knight-Commander of the existence and wide prevalence of secondary branding, I theorized that many of us in the Tower are or have been candidates in the past; specific names come to mind, but are not relevant to a long term record. There are only two options for magi in the Circle, and those are the Harrowing, and the Rite. There is no other path. If Surana were at all peculiar, her presence would suggest the existence of a third path, and that is impossible. I find the implications of a tranquil escaping the brand, secondary or not, disquieting._

_-Submitted for your consideration-_


	4. IV

* * *

Something was missing. Ayah did not know what was missing but it bothered her, like a lingering ring in her ears long after a bell toll, or an itch in she could almost – but not quite – reach. She filed it away at the back of her mind, since it was a pointless thought, but every now and then the sensation would rear its head and come to the forefront of her mind once more.

"And no longer was it formless, ever-changing, but held fast, immutable . . ."

The Chant of Light rung out of the Tower's small Chantry with pure and simplistic clarity as the morning rolled by, marking it a day since Ayah Surana's trial. Ayah found herself pausing in the hallway and listening to the sound of the words and their heavy rhythm; the Chant held no comfort or distress for her one way or another, but she found it linguistically interesting that although the Chant was indeed a chant, it was rare to hear it chanted, and when it was, it was often under-appreciated. (The Chant of Light was intellectually useless, but very pretty.) Though the words to the many Canticles were known to Ayah, she had never heard them sung before. She did not recognize the voice of the sister in the Chantry, but found the girl's clear tones to be aesthetically pleasing to the ear.

" . . for heaven and for earth, sea and sky. At last did the Maker, from the living world Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, with souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, endless possibilities . . ."

She had places to be, obligations to fulfill, people to meet. Things to pack. Ayah knew that this delay was inappropriate. Her feet were oddly weighted and a peculiar part of her disliked the idea of moving from that spot. She could not fathom why. Ayah shuffled uncomfortably in the hallway, feeling perturbed. She did not like the new feeling. The Chant was disturbing to her. It was at fault.

" . . . gift: In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame all-consuming, and never satisfied. From the Fade did I craft you, and to the Fade you shall return each night in dreams, that you may always remember me."

Ayah finally forced her feet to move and stalked away from the Chantry, slippers slapping harshly against the Tower's cold stone.

Tranquil were instructed on all aspects of Chantry law and history, but attendance to the Chantry weekly was deemed wholly unnecessary. Some universally accepted the Maker's Will as absolute and others did not; the gap between the faithful and the faithless was a missionary's eternal job to bridge. As for the Tranquil, a being who is literally incapable of feeling faith or emotion attending a religious service where one goes to feel hope and fulfillment and connect with their fellow Man and Maker, was nothing short of foolish. There was nothing to be gained from it. Tranquil did not hold religion in contempt, they only viewed it as a useless staple in life. Ayah's day to day did not involve the eternal philosophic debate between the mortal and the divine; it was none of her concern.

Yet, she had been pondering her old life more. Tranquil are said to never think on their life before, but this is untrue; the memories exist, but there was simply no emotional attachment to them. It was separate set of memories of a different life that the person who was in their body once lived, and that was all. The brand cleansed them of that life, baptizing them into a new and brighter world full of focus. Thinking about their nearsighted past was a waste of time; the past was irrelevant. She knew this, as did they all. That had not and would not change.

Still, Ayah wondered. She was not like other Tranquil, and as a result was unable to describe herself. There was focus and clarity, but no role, no placement. She floundered. It was a disquieting state of being.

As she swiftly padded her way down the Tower's dark, winding corridors in the early morning, she began to wonder. "An unquenchable flame, all-consuming," she murmured aloud to herself.

Metaphors were always good to use, universal in their meaning, and universally objective. Each individual perspective offered a different chance at meaning. Useful from a literary or intellectual standpoint, but frustrating for Ayah since she did not understand them anymore. For a moment she considered the line from a literal purview, but of course it did not literally refer to a fire in one's chest. That would be silly. Perhaps it referred to emotion? Ayah recalled an instance where a face from her old life – a mage named Jowan – described the thing called 'love' as a 'wonderful fire that warms you as it consumes you.'

She frowned to herself at the thought. It was confusing. Something had to be missing. Fire was bad. Why would someone describe something which was supposedly as 'wonderful' as love as something as terrible as fire? Certainly fire was useful, from a safe distance, but not when you were closer than common sense would dictate – close enough to let it 'warm' you as it 'consumes you.' There was no logic in that. Perhaps the metaphor was incorrect. Ayah determined to ask Cullen if she saw him that day. He would know about these sorts of things.

Ayah did not ever remember feeling as though a fire were warming and consuming her, except once when she used elemental fire magic in her old life. Her past relationship with the templar might qualify, but she had refrained so far from bringing the subject up in said favorite templar's presence, since she knew it appeared to cause him some amount of distress.

Ayah did not feel distress, or discomfort, except only so rarely, and then only in a physical sense. Those things were sensations, not feelings. If anything, she felt as there was a hole at the center of her being, not a fire that warmed or consumed. A hole that she could not fill, a void that would not be satisfied - there was no flame of any sort. That was all. No matter how she tried to rationalize it away, she still felt nothing like the fire the Chant described. There was no warmth at the core of her being, was there? She did not feel any physical warmth there beyond the natural, normal temperature of her body. And since she did not feel any warmth otherwise, she was left to conclude that the fire had something to do with her brand.

Ayah Surana stopped in front of the door to the Tranquil's quarters, her hand inches away from the large brass knob. Every inch of her body tensed as the answer came to her, quite suddenly. The Chantry sister's voice recited the words of Threnodies 5 in her mind:

_From the Fade I crafted you,_   
_And to the Fade you shall return_   
_Each night in dreams_   
_That you may always remember me._

Something was missing. Of course. Ayah was no longer the same as before, so it made sense that something could've been lost in the transition from Old Self to Now-Self. Something could have quite easily been lost.

The Fade had not spawned Ayah, for she was the handiwork of the Templar justice. Her solitary nights were silent because she did not dream, and thus she did not return to the Fade. The anagogic brand kept the Fade at bay, and without dreams, Ayah had forgotten the Maker.

He had likely forgotten all about Ayah as well. She reasoned that it was probably for the best, since she was far too busy to worry about invisible, omnipotent avengers that lurked in the sky. Living in the Tower, she never saw the sky anyway. It was not important. Such matters were better left for scholars to write about, so Chanters could later have something pretty to sing about.

So, something was missing, yes, but could not for certain be the Maker. Ayah Surana supposed that whatever it was, it would come to her in its own time. Most things did.

She opened the door to the Tranquil's quarters and quietly rushed to her enclosure, methodically gathering what little she owned into neat, orderly piles. Clothing, various clean washrags, a hairbrush, and so on – useful tools that made her existence easier; there was no personal attachment to any of the items. She pushed all thoughts of the Chant out of her mind as she worked. In the meantime, she would ready herself for a journey per Greagoir's orders, and then – most importantly – she would find Cullen. There was much to discuss. This recently discovered hole in her core would not heal itself. She required advice.

He stood watch outside the gloomy templar quarters', still as the stone beneath his feet, like a gleaming metal statue. His posture was tense, wary, as if he were expecting an attack at a moment's notice. Ayah could not fathom what would have held his attention so much that he had not noticed her coming, but even as she approached Cullen's shadowed eyes were Elsewhere, gazing at some far-off, imaginary vista. Perhaps this was the lyrium withdrawal, or perhaps he was simply tired, she could not begin to guess. She took a brief moment to examine her own reflection in the pauldron of his armor before lightly tapping him on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to the present moment.

"Ah!" He practically leapt into the air in fright, and Ayah watched him carefully. His face turned into a funny mask of surprise, confusion, and fear, before finally absolving and settling on relief. How did he cycle through so many emotions so quickly? It must be terribly exhausting.

"Ayah," Cullen breathed. Almost absently he outstretched his hand to touch her, but seemed to regain control of his arm at the last minute and forced it firmly back at his side. The relief promptly fled from his face, his expression becoming guarded. "How . . . how are you?" He asked. His voice was laden with concern and unease.

She tilted her head to the side, unwittingly resembling a wren, and debated internally on the best way to answer his question. There were various approaches she could take, but which one would get the best reaction out of Cullen? He was an odd, unpredictable creature. She could be blunt and cut to the chase, she could waylay the information, she could feign humor . . . what would First Enchanter Irving do? -she finally asked herself. The old man was also an interesting person, and a good enough standard of behavior to copy off of.

Ultimately, however, the reaction she finally settled on, after a few moments of silence, was this: "'Though all before me is shadow,'" she gently recited, plucking the verse from memory, "'Yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.'"

Cullen didn't look startled by this at all. It seemed very much like something the old Ayah would do, quote verses at him in lieu of an answer, or give some cryptic, metaphoric reply. Old Ayah was ever fond confusing people. He gave a small, tired smile. "You're okay, then," he translated. "You weren't branded?"

The unorthodox elf shook her head. "I was not. Does this relieve you?"

"Very much, yes, though I admit . . . I have difficulty understanding why. I guess it shouldn't have worried me. I mean, you always used to, well, nevermind."

What a mangled statement, she thought. Cullen had confusing grammar. She selected her reply carefully. ". . . Yes, I also have difficulty understanding. And I too, was relieved."

A moment of companionable silence passed between the pair. Cullen had often associated silence with the idea of the Tranquil; demons didn't take more than one look at them, since they'd been cut off from the Fade, and without their magic they were effectively silenced. They were the quiet, industrious working class of the caste system in the Tower – at the bottom of the food chain – and nothing more. Except for Ayah, it seemed, who was not content to work, who was not content to be quiet, who was not content to simply Be like the others. She was . . . different.

Ayah thought back briefly to her encounter with the unseen Chanter in the Temple this morning. The verses of the Chant of Light were utterly useless, but if Cullen found some mysterious comfort in them, then she would abide.

The silence had begun companionably but Ayah grew uncomfortable very quickly, shifting from foot to foot. "There is something I must tell you, Cullen."

"Oh?" He perked up, a little smile coming to his face.

She rather liked the smile and didn't want to see it go away quite so quickly. "It can wait, however," she announced on impulse. "In the meantime, you are looking much better, and healthier. I assume you have resumed the consumption of lyrium."

"Well, you assume right."

She nodded approvingly. "This is good. The addiction is unfortunate, but necessary, I am told. It is better when you are well."

"What was it you had to tell me?" He interrupted.

Ayah blinked, but answered easily enough. "I am leaving with a retinue of your fellows to Denerim, and from there, to Antiva." Before his eyebrows could shoot any higher up his forehead, she explained further. "Knight-Commander Greagoir has determined, per my suggestion, that I am more useful in my current state of independence and instead shall be trained extensively in combat for the purposes of training other templars. For that purpose, I am being transferred to Antiva City. It will be many months before I return to Ferelden."

Cullen was silent for a few moments, apparently stunned. "Wait, wait." He held up his hands, brows furrowing. "You go in to get _re-branded_. And emerge not only perfectly _fine_ , but better off when Greagoir hands you a sword and says, 'have at it?'"

"That is not a literal summary of what occurred," Ayah criticized.

"'And guess what, we're sending you on vacation to _Antiva?'_ "

Ayah was definitely confused now. "Does this classify as a vacation? I was unaware. I did not particularly suggest Antiva as a destination, but I am resigned to the Knight-Commander's decision. It fits well with my skill set and state of mind. Does this upset you in some way?"

Cullen stared at her for another second before guffawing. "Upset? Maker's breath, no, I only want to know what you told him. Wish _I_ could get shipped off to Antiva at a moments' notice."

Unsure of what to say to this, Ayah said quietly, "I would rather remain here at the Tower, for the satisfaction of your company, but this is a necessary venture. I am sorry, Cullen."

He seemed even more dumbfounded by her reaction than before. "W-what are you apologizing for? You're not getting re-branded and they're letting you off the leash. You don't have anything to be sorry for, Ayah." And then he laughed, because something was inexplicably funny about this all. The laughter faded quickly and his expression sobered. "I don't . . . I don't really know what came over me, I'm sorry. I should be the one apologizing, I-I just. Didn't really know what to do. I ended up being so worried while you were in there, though I had no right to be, and it didn't make sense, and then I couldn't explain to myself _why_ I was worried, and I just felt like . . ." _Like something was missing_ , he left unsaid.

"I understand," Ayah said quietly, placing a small hand on his arm for reassurance. She did her best to bring out the reassurance in her voice, and as Cullen relaxed she was glad that it seemed to have an effect on him.

There had been something different about him today, something lighter in his demeanor ever since he saw her. She preferred it this way, when he was seemingly happy. Or if not happy, then at least _relieved_ with nothing serious pressing on his mind. Ayah was not as relieved as he was, as something was bothering her. An uncomfortable, twisting phantom mass appeared somewhere in her abdomen, and she frowned. What kind of stomach ache was this? It definitely wasn't dysentery. It couldn't be something physical. That meant something _else_ was bothering her. As she examined Cullen in this new light, an idea came to her as to what this might be – _uncertainty._

Something vital was missing. The twisting feeling in her gut could not be ignored.

"Ayah?" He frowned, looking more concerned than Ayah felt he had a right to be. "I-Is something wrong? What is it?"

"I am puzzled," she confessed, her voice dropping into the old low monotone. "Something may be wrong with me. I feel somewhat ill."

He looked to be at a loss for words, for a moment. "If you're sick, I can escort you to the infirmary, er, if you like."

She shook her head and frowned, attempting to sort it all out in her head. The ugly sensation in her stomach had lurched upwards and nestled into her chest. She desired it gone, but more importantly she yearned for something. Anything. There was something missing. The void, the hole at her core felt suddenly raw and _hurt._ She had to get it back. What was it? She searched the old Ayah's memories. It must have something to do with those. Some previous illness or physiological quirk would reveal itself soon enough.

Cullen continued to make suggestions, and Ayah continued to shake her head, enveloped in turmoil. She finally gave up on her memories, as nothing really made sense anyway. The tiny, unfamiliar, unfriendly rationality that had emerged in the back of her mind during her trial took this moment to come forth, and seize the opportunity. Ayah blinked, a realization and wild impulse hitting her at the same time. She had never experienced anything quite like it.

"Ayah?" Cullen looked more mystified than ever. Ayah noted there was no one in the hallway. They were alone. This was good, for what she was about to do. Yes. It all made sense now. After all, her physiological reactions were no different than before, even if there was no emotional attachment involved.

She realized she was gripping his arm a little too tightly, but he did not seem to mind overmuch. Another verse from the Chant came to mind. "'Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm." She inched closer to him and he seemed to shrink back, afraid, unsure. Uncertain. That was fine – Ayah was full of certainty. He could borrow some of hers. Her voice was hardly above a whisper for the rest of the words of Trial 1.10: "'I shall endure. What you have created, no one can tear asunder.'"

Cullen couldn't find it in him to walk away, though he considered it unfair that she had chosen _those_ words, of all the words. He went through a volley of emotions that were too rapid for Ayah to count and analyze. "Wh-what are you d-doing?" He finally choked out. It seemed he had devolved back to stuttering. Ayah recalled that in her old life, it had taken him some time to overcome his speech impediment whenever he was within five feet of her. She found it vaguely curious that it would manifest again now.

Ayah then realized her other hand had found its way to his cheek. The touch of his skin was quite unlike anything she had ever felt before. She valiantly ignored the reasonable impulse to pull away and apologize, instead pulling closer. The blazing touch – ah yes, here was the thing that was missing – here was the thing that was wrong, that had plagued her. Here was her fire. He had taken it with him and kept it away from her. Here was the reason behind her remaining doubts and faint diffidence. Everything fell into the right place. But why didn't he seem to understand? An expression Ayah had become all too familiar with took hold of him suddenly, and she repressed the wholly justified urge to kick and shout and set fire to things. Guilt. That was what stood in his way. Guilt getting in the way again. Guilt was silly.

 _No_ , said the small, wicked voice in the back of her mind, _not this time. He won't get away._

"Ayah, no," he insisted, attempting to push her away. She stood fast, and he was a little surprised at how immovable she was. The lithe elf was stronger than she looked.

Where were the words that could convince him? Ayah searched her memories. "Please," she managed out; it emerged as a hollow rasp. "Help me."

Guilt twisted and churned inside him once more and made him deny it. Ayah decided right then and there that guilt was an idiotic feeling, and she didn't like it. "I-I can't, it's wrong, Ayah . . . we can't. You. _Please_. Don't."

" _I want to feel._ "

For a brief, glorious amount of time, the guilt and grief were washed away. Ayah's eyes reflected only a desperate, pleading sincerity that Cullen had always hoped, ever since she'd been cleansed – but always known was not really there. Perhaps it was his imagination playing tricks on him. Part of him didn't even mind if it was. Maybe it was too much to believe that she felt anything at all, let alone realized that something was missing here. He was not as she remembered him, but neither was she. None of it mattered. He couldn't even remember why it was wrong, or why he was upset. It was all so very unimportant now.

The incessantly analytical part of Ayah's mind went blissfully still for a few moments when his lips crashed into hers. There was no data to process, no tasks to complete, no parameters to fulfill, nothing to decipher or comprehend. Ayah Surana felt, absent clarity of thought or greater purpose. Her fingers wove their way into his short curls; he pulled her tightly against him; she opened her mouth, moaned, and blind instinct took over. For a brief, glorious amount of time, he was lost, but Ayah was found, and this was all that mattered.

Much, much later, Ayah would reflect on what it was about touch – finite physical contact with others – that made it so integral to one's being. It had not been important to her before, but it made more sense when she recalled the way Cullen's calloused hands and harsh lips felt on her skin – first _there_ in that quiet hall, then _there_ in the undisturbed quiet of the Repository – almost afraid to touch yet yearning to, his gentle hands, as rough as a whisper; the way her body betrayed her, warming and moving to accommodate him as it had in an old, forgotten memory; the way her heart had battered against her ribcage like a war drum, or the frantic wing-beat of a grounded bird. She had not understood it then – she had only _felt,_ which was as it should be.

So therefore it was in the memory of touch, not then in the delicious ache of the action itself that Ayah recognized the truth of the lingering burn beneath her fingertips when they raked their way across his bare back for what it was, and wondered absently if that inner fire would grow to consume her one day, or if she would care if it did.

* * *

Ayah could not remember seeing the sun before. Word of mouth did no justice to the sun; no secondhand description was enough to illustrate the way its warm, incandescent radiance illuminated the green Ferelden countryside. Ferelden itself was something to behold as well - the tall reeds and mangy cattails edging Lake Calenhad spoke of spring, while the gentle wind rustling through the taller forests beyond the lake whispered a hushed anticipation of summer. It was nothing short of spectacular, and were she not a Tranquil, Ayah would have been moved. But she had never been moved before and saw no reason to begin now.

She did, however, like the feeling of the sun on her skin. It was all the warmth of a hearth with none of the harshness. She was curious as to what sunburn would be like, having never encountered it before in the insular Tower, but was cautioned against attempting to obtain it by her templar guardians. Ayah stared at her skin, her naturally dark complexion, the smattering of freckles that had spawned seemingly the instant she stepped outside. Would she even _get_ sunburned? What would it feel like? She was tempted to forgo the salve she put on her skin each morning just to see what sunburn would feel like, but her guardians had told her specifically not to do that, so she would refrain. Curiosity could wait another day.

The sky was also very interesting. Being Outside for the first time left much idle time that Ayah spent mostly squinting up at the endless sky. The stars would be visible at night, like a scattering of diamonds on black velvet. She could spy several constellations then that she had studied on star-maps in the Tower as a mage, but never had the opportunity to see. The studies had been so tedious, and it was vaguely ironic to her that only now did they have a payoff. The moon was not visible for the first few nights in Ferelden, it being a new moon, but when it finally peeked out Ayah found it to be a most curious sight. It was quite pretty, but ultimately useless – like cosmetics, or morality. The moon offered no illumination, only existing to keep the stars company and rein in the tides.

In a flash of insight she wondered if this was similar to how surface dwarves felt, when they emerged from the dark underground of Orzammar for the first time. She would have no way of knowing, and it was a useless thought, so she put it away and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Ayah Surana had left the Tower in the company of several templars for Denerim, with a writ signed by the Knight-Commander in their possession that authorized her transfer to Antiva. The trek to Denerim was long and tedious and if there was one thing Ayah did not enjoy, it was tedium. She preferred to be occupied, but there was little to do along the road except occasionally clean, cook, and set up or disassemble camp when required.

It was not quite as boring as expected, however. The templars around her would occasionally engage her in conversation, but eventually they all seemed to become a bit put-off with her, as if something in her mannerisms offended or disturbed them. She reasoned this was because she had escaped her second brand, and dismissed the issue as 'their problem.'

For the most part, Ayah passed the time spent traveling examining and memorizing the countryside. She was not likely to see it again for some time, and who was to say that when she saw it next it would even be in the same season? She imagined briefly what the pine trees, the thrush, the yarrow, the green grass, and the swampy hinterlands would appear as when covered by a white blanket of snow. She had never seen snow, either. There were many new experiences in Thedas to behold. It would be . . . intriguing.

Still, she felt displeased at the thought of leaving the Tower for so long. She had just begin to discover, with Cullen's help (after some hefty persuasion) what exactly had been . . . itching her for so long, and now she had to leave. It was inconvenient timing.

There were still many things she had yet to discover back at the Tower, as well. Uldred's appearance in her trial, the interference of Owain. Too many things yet to learn.

In the end, however, it was all unimportant. She had a new place to go, with a new task to fulfill. There was no reason to waste energy on speculation, and no logic to be found in looking backwards. Strangely, she couldn't stop herself from doing either. _How bothersome._

After five days of travelling, Ayah and her caretakers arrived at Denerim. Having never seen a city before, Ayah allowed herself a few minutes to examine the sights around her for the sake of curiosity. The city was an odd, dirty conglomeration of wood and masonry, full of mismatching buildings and nonsensical street patterns. It would have made sense to Ayah for the city to have been arranged in grid-like pattern, with streets named by number or descending letters, but as it were she had to form a mental map in her head with all the twists and turns they took. Whoever would design a city this confusing and disorderly needed to be severely reprimanded, she decided. The people in Denerim were no better – many that she saw were impoverished, and she already caught the eye of a pickpocket trying to steal from one of her templars. The boy – just a small child – caught her eye and gasped, frightened, and ran away. The templar target looked briefly confused, but shrugged it off.

All in all, Ayah didn't like Denerim. It was strange and smelly, and dominated by weak human lords. It was inefficiently organized and dogs and pickpockets ran rampant in the streets. She could see someone, like the elves in the alienage, being forced to live here as punishment; why anyone would want to live here in the long term, given the choice, was beyond her.

One of her templar guardians asked if she was well. She hadn't realized that she appeared at all unwell. "I dislike this city," she told him flatly. "It smells of dogs and unwashed peasants. When will we arrive at the Chantry?"

The templar looked a little amused by her blunt reply. "I'm not a big fan of it either," he commented, "but it shouldn't be too long. I didn't think Tranquil got impatient."

"We do not." Ayah paused, giving this templar a cursory examination. Dark hair. Forgettable face. She did not recognize him, but that was not uncommon for her. "I did not think templars indulged curiosity," she said.

"We don't," he said simply.

"Why did you ask if I was unwell? Did I appear so earlier?"

He shrugged. "Couldn't say. You looked a little off, which kind of an odd expression on a Tranquil, if you don't mind me saying so. I'm a bit curious. Apparently you're not like most of them. You had Greagoir all up in a funny uproar."

Ayah couldn't disagree with that, and nodded her head. "I am not like most, and Knight-Commander Greagoir is prone to overreaction. You are very talkative," she noted.

The templar smiled wryly. "I've heard that before."

He was correct, it wasn't long until the traveling party reached the central part of Denerim, where the main Chantry was located. Ayah found it to be a squat and boring building that reeked of old incense, an assessment that her new talkative templar friend agreed with. She had heard that Chantries were supposed to reflect the glory of the Maker; then why was this building in such disarray? Then again, celebrating an absent god was another concept that eluded Ayah – why anyone would build buildings in the Maker's glory was unfathomable. He was never around to appreciate them. It was all very stupid.

Her templars guided her to the central altar, under the highest point in the Chantry's vaulted ceiling where a solitary statue of Andraste stood in silent repose. Behind Our marble Lady were tapestries of gold and scarlet, depicting the burning of Andraste and the subsequent redemption of the Archon. To Ayah, the white of the marble seemed stark and alien juxtaposed to the dark wooden walls. At the center of the altar, there were two brothers guiding a small congregation in a murmuring Chant. A few of the templars broke off from the company and joined the congregation in knelt prayer, which left Ayah, one templar whose decorated armor designated him as the Knight-Captain whose name she did not know, and her talkative friend.

They went left of the central statue and up some winding steps, which were hidden in a shadowy alcove. At the top of the stairs was a simple, unassuming door which Ayah supposed was the office of the Grand Cleric. The Knight-Captain knocked once politely and opened the door, revealing a brightly-lit chamber and an elderly woman in black and gold Chantry robes, whom he greeted fondly.

"Knight-Captain Alanir," the Grand Cleric said warmly. She grasped the hands of the young man whom, Ayah just now was beginning to notice, was gangly and red-headed. She had not paid him any mind before, but now there was a name to the face, and it stuck in her memory. Why he was on a first name basis with the Grand Cleric was a mystery, though.

The Grand Cleric of the Denerim Chantry was aging, yes, reminding Ayah of a mage she knew once in her old life. Something with a 'W', she was sure . . . an odd name . . . bah, it didn't matter. The Cleric's once blue eyes were watery and fogged, and her face was lined. Time had not been kind to her, although her hands were delicate and slender – the wrinkled hands of a scholar. Ayah looked down briefly at her own hands. Her hands had once been smooth – the hands of a mage who cast spells and read books all day. Now they were strong and callused from work. _What a peculiar change. I wonder what else of me has changed?_

The talkative templar stepped forward when the Grand Cleric's eyes turned to him. "Knight-Lieutenant Delaney, your Grace."

The Grand Cleric murmured a vague greeting. Ayah stared at Delaney, committing his face to memory as well. She did not appreciate how her memory of the people around her seemed to escape her now and then. Only certain individuals stuck to mind – though even they were not immune to the tide of Lethe. Now, Ayah could barely recall the face of the First Enchanter. There had to be a way to rectify it. (Luckily there was no chance of her forgetting Cullen's face. He was too important to forget.)

The old woman finally turned to Ayah. When her eyes alighted on the red sun emblazoned on Ayah's forehead, her features wrinkled in confusion for a bit, until Knight-Captain Alanir shoved a missive into her hands that, as she read, seemed to alleviate the ugly furrow in her brow. "Ah yes," she finally muttered. "I had almost forgotten. Ayah Surana."

Ayah stepped forward. "I am here."

" . . . Yes, I can see that." The Grand Cleric cleared her throat and rolled up the paper, which Ayah realized must have held the Knight-Commander's report. "It seems you will be staying here for a sojourn while the ship you're leaving on gets ready to leave. Do you understand?"

"Naturally. How many days?"

The old woman seemed confused about the question, though Ayah didn't know why, because it had been a very normal question to ask. "Well, I wouldn't expect more than two, dear. You will be rooming with the sisters in the lower quarters. Oh, Knight-Lieutenant Delaney will be staying here and leaving with you, to act as your escort." Ayah assumed that 'escort' was a euphemism for 'bodyguard.' She refrained from pointing this out. Euphemisms were irritating to Ayah. Lying she could understand for its practical purposes, but euphemisms were the worst form of cheating, when it came to honesty.

Ayah just nodded. "That is acceptable. Ser Delaney and I have established an equitable working relationship in the brief time that I have known him."

The Knight-Captain smirked. "Hear that Delaney? She likes you! You have a fan. A Tranquil fan. D'awww."

Delaney did not look amused, though Ayah could not detect anything offensive in Ser Alanir's remarks. "You be quiet."

"I do not understand," Ayah stated slowly, "is it a joke? It is not humorous."

"Ser Alanir," the Grand Cleric snapped. Alanir ducked his head at the reprimand and had the grace to look ashamed. Ayah frowned, still missing the punch line. "There will be no bickering in my Chantry. Gentlemen, if you would, escort the young miss to her quarters for the evening. I'll send a sister down with refreshments later."

Knight-Lieutenant Delaney bowed his head in assent. "At once, your Grace."

* * *

Time did not increase Ayah's fondness, or lack thereof, for the Denerim Chantry. Three days past and it was still as terrible as it had been the first time she'd seen it. She commented on this to the Knight-Lieutenant and he artfully hid a smirk, explaining that the people of Denerim liked it this way. Ayah could not fathom it.

She was very grateful when it was time to leave for Antiva, and had never been so relieved to see a ship in her life, though not so surprising as she had never seen a ship before. She forgot to add inflection into her voice when she told Delaney, "I am experiencing something like happiness," which was something he found inexplicably funny. Once again, Ayah could not fathom it.

Ayah found that she liked the ocean, and the rocky Waking Sea. Once she adjusted to the roiling waves and whipping winds it was rather nice. She liked the feeling of the wind on her face and the odd thrill that accompanied sailing. It was quite unlike anything she had experienced since she began. New experiences were ever so interesting. Knight-Lieutenant Delaney, she noted, was having the opposite reaction; "sea-sickness," it was called. The sea did not seem to agree with him at all, if the immense amounts of vomit he was spewing over the edge of the boat were any indication. The rowdy sailors around him laughed uproariously at his predicament. After the man heaved up far more than he had eaten that day, Ayah offered to make him a remedy, although he refused. She supposed that was the concept known as 'pride' interfering with common sense, and that he would likely renege on his decision later.

Although the not-so-Tranquil was uncertain about one thing: she wasn't too keen on the idea of spending a week on a ship with this group of motley Nevarran sailors. As reliable as their nautical abilities might be, they had a suspicious lack of understanding of the theories and applications of personal hygiene. Three days in the Denerim Chantry was a bearable amount of time, though the thick incense had been so cloying that at one point, Ayah had thought she had actually been sick; these sailors were smelly on an entirely new level. Seven days at sea of intense male body odor was a new experience that Ayah would _not_ enjoy cataloging, no, not at _all_.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yeah, it's been a long time. My bad, sorry, I suck, excuses, etc. This whole Antiva thing is going to take two chapters. This one is a boring build up, has a lot of section breaks that seem unnecessary, and I wouldn't be surprised if people hated it. It has a surprise cameo, if that makes it any better? There will be actual combat action in the next one. I had to divide it into two because it was way too long. Also, I decided that the Antivan language is Italian, because I have the author power.

[I will not cower in the face of the unknown.]

* * *

For all he'd cracked up to be, Armand thought he made an underwhelming figure, clad in dull gray and dirt brown. He was an easy figure to miss in a crowd, or in this case in a group of rowdy tavern patrons. As the cloaked man made an uneven beeline towards Armand's table, the Barone revised his opinion; wasn't that the point, to be just noticeable enough to be ignored? Hiding in plain sight had to be better than hiding just out of sight, where your enemies were sure to look first.

The lean figure plopped in front of him without preamble and sat there, in the din, waiting. Armand raised an eyebrow, though the man said not a word. The Barone gave in. ( _This is absurd._ ) "Stormy weather we're having, no?" It wasn't really a question, and it wasn't really stormy. Quite sunny actually, well, earlier today it had been. The night was clear and crisp and loud with revelry, a typical Antivan summer night.

Noting the code with a nod ( _that damn silly phrase_ ), the figure before him leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. The Barone got the distinct impression that he was being sized up, and fidgeted a bit under small man's disproportionately heavy gaze.

"How fares Seleny, Signore?" The man finally asked, his voice a surprisingly pleasant tenor.

"Well," Armand answered tersely, "but we did not come here to engage in small talk."

"Straight to business, eh? I admire that in a man." He leaned back, slouching and kicking boots up on the table. The Barone of Seleny wrinkled his nose in distaste at his guest's manners, but refrained from saying anything. "Indulge me, though, if you will – I find myself curious as to the nature of your quarrel with this _cazzo_."

Armand sniffed. "The _Maestro_ has outlived his usefulness. There was a time I might have been more forgiving, but it has passed. He has stolen from me, he has lied to me, he has murdered my men, and now he will pay. I trust your employers have no problem helping me with that?"

The smaller man – whom Armand was beginning to suspect was an elf – chuckled. It was a dark, rich sound, but at the same time chillingly hollow, devoid of joy. Such is the empty laugh of a murdering Crow, whose currency is life, and product is death. "No, he does not, _amico._ The Crows take care of their own."

* * *

" _Andiamo, passerota_!"

" _Sì, maestro._ "

Ayah Surana barely had time to process her body's reaction to this command; her training had ingrained the process so thoroughly into her being that she attacked without thought. She felt that this was a good thing to have developed, since it improved her usefulness.

She went low with her rapier, cutting down towards her teacher's knees. He deftly countered the blow, but she had anticipated this; their movements had become practiced this last year. She had studied her opponent very well. A quick twist of the wrist almost had her land a blow on his shoulder, but he stepped to the side, batting her blade aside and going in for a sharp jab. She parried; he struck; she struck back, and so on in a tantalizing dance.

Ayah didn't know how long the back and forth lasted. Time had a strange way of gliding by without her notice. She had been concerned at first that some magic was at work, as she had always previously been aware of the passing of minutes before due to her own inner schedule; no second was unaccounted for in Ayah's pristine world. Every task and moment was timed for the maximum efficiency. Time did not just _slip by_ , unless of course it was being bent by the Fade by some manner of magic. It took some time for Ayah, and some useful rationalization from her knight-protector Delaney, to realize that the time had not evaporated, just passed unconsciously while she was wholly engaged in training. Now that she had something to occupy her, something that she was particularly skilled at, something that satisfied all of her faculties and kept her undivided attention, time appeared to go by a great deal faster than it had before. Delaney had called it a 'fairly ordinary phenomenon.' Ayah had criticized Delaney on his poor grammar.

Thus, when the lesson finally ended, and she had yet to land a blow on her teacher, she was faintly surprised by how late it had become. Her training room was outside the Chantry proper, in the templars' barracks where there was but one window in her training room which opened up to overlook the eastern sky; the sky above Antiva City was already stained with oily streaks of orange and purple, and if she focused, she could hear the far-off sounds of the markets closing for the day as people hurried home, eager to be safe from the darkening streets. Ayah had never been allowed to leave the Chantry excepting when being escorted by Delaney to and from the Tower, and even _she_ knew that the people of Antiva City feared to walk the streets after dark. She did not understand why; judging from the crime rates, the city seemed to be a safe enough place during all times of the day. Perhaps she was missing some information that would help her to make sense of this conundrum . . .

Her teacher, Master Liborio, interrupted her rampant thoughts with a decisive clap. He was an older human man, though his exact age Ayah could not determine. His age appeared to be irrelevant as his skill was without question, for which he had been hired to train Ayah in combat until her guardians deemed her fit to return to Ferelden. She didn't know when precisely this would happen, but was unconcerned. It was not her decision and for the moment, despite being parted from Cullen, she was content.

Ayah knew little of Liborio, except that he was an unusual human specimen: unlike all of the others Ayah had encountered in her new life, the Master had taken to Ayah quite well and appeared to genuinely enjoy her company. She found this profoundly odd. He seemed completely unconcerned with the sigil on her forehead – Ayah had watched him closely in their interactions and never once did his eyes drift upwards to rest uneasily on her brand, as every other person's gaze inevitably did. It was an interesting difference. She knew that Liborio had trained one other Tranquil before her at the local Antivan Circle of Magi; she had not met this individual yet and did not care to, but it would explain the Antivan's easy interactions with her.

She found it . . . refreshingly normal.

"Enough, _Passerota_." _Passerota._ He had refused to call Ayah by her name, choosing instead a nickname – _so like a bird you are_ , he had said, _lovely little sparrow. But I will fledge this passerota yet_. Ayah had never had a nickname before. It was easier and less confusing to just call a thing what it was, but it was harmless to let the man continue with his endearment. After all, he was much older than Ayah; the Chantry taught that elders were to be respected, while experience in dealing with First Enchanter Irving taught Ayah that elders were less troublesome if they were indulged. "You've done well today."

Ayah looked down at her sword arm and frowned. "I disagree with that assessment. I have trained under your guidance each day for over a year, and yet I did not land a blow on you. Comparatively, I have done poorly."

The man shook his head and grinned, his oddly white teeth a stark contrast to his dark skin. "No, no. The day you manage to hit me, I'll eat my hat."

"That is inadvisable," Ayah said plainly. "Hats are nutritious only by the broadest definition of the terms 'hat' and 'nutrition.' I do not know why anyone would voluntarily eat one. I doubt there exists a sufficient amount of gravy or seasoning that could make a hat palatable to one's taste buds."

He laughed, finding something funny about the Tranquil. Ayah wished then that she understood humor, as she was certain that she was the end of a joke. People often made no sense. "'Tis a phrase, _passerota._ Just a phrase."

Ayah nodded gravely. "I see. _Mi dispiace_. _Grazie_ for your clarification."

"Your accent's getting better too," her teacher noted, still smiling. "Soon we'll have you speaking like a native!"

Ayah cocked her head to the side, thinking about this. "I am a native," she revealed.

" _Come?_ "

"I was born in Antiva to an elven man and his wife in the alienage at the heart of Antiva City. When I displayed signs of magic at a young age, I was delivered to the Circle, and later transferred to Ferelden."

Liborio quirked a dark eyebrow and wrapped an arm around Ayah's shoulders, guiding the elf slowly away from the window and to the door. "I said 'like' a native. Not that you'll be one, or that you are one. Being born somewhere doesn't make you a native of a place any more than speaking the native language. To be a real Antivan, one must _live_ and _breathe_ Antiva. This country can't be seen, it must be . . . _experienced_ , which is something that I'm afraid you'll never do, locked away in this cage of yours. Lovely cage though it is. _Brasca._ Tragic. To really call yourself an Antivan you must first," he ticked off the items on his left hand, "drink enough Antivan wine to drown a cat, two, visited one of our famous whorehouses and done something you regret, and three, pissed off the Crows. And there's no guarantee that you'll survive any of the three, with your delicate constitution."

He removed his arm from her shoulders and Ayah processed this. Determining what was and was not useful within Liborio's little speeches was a skill she had developed, as the man said a great many confusing and useless things Ayah assumed that he thought were 'witty.' Wit was entirely useless, much like art, and morality, so Ayah picked apart what he had said in her mind and focused on the only thing that she had not quite understood. "I am uncertain what foul little black scavenger birds have to do with Antivan nativity."

Liborio, frustratingly enough, laughed at her. "Ah, _passerota_. Never change."

How vexing. For the second, and certainly not the last time that day, Ayah wished that she could understand humor. "You are an odd little man, Maestro," she concluded. " _Vi sò cinese_."

* * *

"Knight-Lieutenant Delaney," Ayah greeted calmly. Delaney barely looked up from his breakfast to nod his charge a hello. She sat down in front of him and leveled him with an unnervingly intent gaze. The dark-haired templar swallowed what was left of his food and leaned back, uneasy.

The templar could not say that he knew his Tranquil charge very well, despite having been in her undivided presence for several months. She was not like other Tranquil, for certain, being prone to the odd idiosyncrasy; such as the curious tilt of her head when she spoke, the slight glimmer in her eyes when she saw something that sparked her interest, or the way her voice would become animated and lightened whenever she asked him inane questions. Except Tranquil did not _have_ curiosities, interests, or questions. Ayah was unique, but Delaney could not precisely tell you how or why.

Lately, Delaney had found himself surprised to be grateful for Ayah's differences in character, rather than suspicious as he felt a templar probably should feel. Yet whatever quirk or fault it was that separated her from the other pieces of talking furniture had been his sole relief from undying boredom since he had come to Antiva City. Antiva was a lovely and exciting place. . . if you were not confined to the Chantry and sworn to Andraste's eternal service. He would never admit it out loud, but the Knight-Lieutenant had come to rely upon his Tranquil ward for the purposes of entertainment – nothing too terrible, no, no, but there was certainly no harm in putting a few silly notions in her head. Like the rumor that all the Enchanters in the Antivan Circle strip naked and cavort around a fire under the moonlight once every full moon. Just _little_ lies that he could sit back and watch Ayah Surana run away with. She was an awfully gullible creature, despite her keen logical mind. _That_ particular story had amused him for a good while – she had become so convinced that what he had told her was true that she managed to raise the issue to the Grand Cleric – who, of course, had an absolute hissy fit and called for an immediate investigation into the Circle's nocturnal activities. It hadn't ended very well, especially not for Antiva City's First Enchanter, who was caught with a few apprentices under his desk busily earning "credit," but at least it was really, really funny.

"What is a crow?" She asked suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

Delaney blinked. Where had this come from? "Scavenger bird, lives off of garbage, tough but filthy animals," he answered numbly. "Why do you ask?"

Ayah nodded, as if she'd known this all along. "Maestro Liborio made curious mention of crows during my daily lesson. We were discussing Antiva. I was not aware that crows were indigenous to this region. What he said was illogical, because it had nothing to do with birds. Will you help me clarify? I do not understand."

The Knight-Lieutenant frowned, and pushed his plate away. He was a little bit amused that Ayah had assumed the old Antivan was talking about actual crows, but more than worried that he _had_ been talking about Crows at all. Come to think of it . . . "He was likely referring to the Antivan Crows," Delaney said slowly, "which are a guild of assassins that come out of Antiva. They're centralized here in the City. Fairly famous. I-i-infamous, rather."

The Tranquil paused, her face a mask of impassivity. Sometimes he wondered what went on in that head of hers. Most times, he was glad he didn't know. Before meeting Ayah Surana, all Tranquil had made him uneasy at best and creeped out at worst. Ayah was strange, but at least she didn't creep him out _too_ much. In some ways, it was easy to forget that she wasn't normal. That was, perhaps, the scariest thing about her. "Thank you for helping me, Knight-Lieutenant." With that, she stood up and left him to his meal, to which he gratefully returned.

If Liborio filled her head with strange ideas about Crows, it wasn't any skin off his back – though he worried a bit what exactly that discussion between the Tranquil and her trainer had entailed. Tranquil were indoctrinated to obey the Circle, however, so he naturally figured there was no danger in whatever Liborio talked to her about. The Chantry sanctioned her training, as well as the appointment of Liborio as Ayah's mentor, by the grace of King Natale. Though the Maestro was hired for his talents as a former Crow, not a gossiping fishwife - a distinction the old man clearly had some difficulty understanding.

The Knight-Lieutenant let that all of that information in one ear and out the other. After all, it wasn't important.

* * *

Ayah had felt the ominous urge of curiosity pull at her ever since her discussion with Delaney about Crows. She'd been blissfully incurious for the last year. Now, it tugged at her again. Liborio's mentioning of them seemed oddly placed in the conversation, in retrospect, as if it were deliberate. Ayah knew that the Maestro enjoyed playing with words and confusing people, but she had no patience for such games. A Tranquil's world was a world of clearly set boundaries and practicality – the whims of an old Antivan were not anywhere on her list of carefully-set priorities. Still, curiosity tingled. What was it? There was something there, something to discover. _Something new to learn._ It didn't matter. _It does._

Ayah was not unfamiliar with curiosity anymore. The stars were a curiosity. The sea was a curiosity. The outdoors were a curiosity. Cullen was a curiosity. Antiva City's nightlife was a curiosity. She liked curiosities. _Why?_ So, she decided to pursue this curiosity – she would uncover what it was about Liborio and Antiva and Crows that was so very interesting, and see if she liked it. And if she didn't, she'd ignore it until it went away, or fixed itself. Problem solved. _Why?_

However, hunting for answers was not something Ayah was familiar with. She could not figure precisely where to begin, so, logically, she decided the best place to begin was at the source.

With all the subtlety of a five-ton wheel of Orlesian cheese being defenestrated from a fourth story window, Ayah waltzed up to Liborio one evening and asked him plainly, "Maestro, are you currently affiliated with the Antivan Crows? I would appreciate an honest answer, as I dislike searching for secrets. I am not experienced in deciphering hidden truths. I am obligated to warn you that my patience is immense, and I am prepared to pursue this subject at great length, until your will crumbles into nothing and I have the answer that I seek."

"Eh? Now where would you get a silly notion like that?" His face betrayed nothing but a vague amusement at his student's antics, but Ayah detected a slight tightening around the eyes that was a sign of discomfort. Lies were discomforting. This was a clue. There. Ayah was getting better at this lie-detecting game of Liborio's.

"The skin around your eyes has wrinkled," she told him bluntly. "You are lying."

The Maestro chuckled, but it was a false sound. Another lie, perhaps. Ayah had not known that people could lie by laughing. She was learning many new things about people today. "Lying? Maker, no. Concealing truth, perhaps, perhaps. But never lying. Lying is always a last resort, my dear; lies are too easily caught. 'Tis better to stick with half-truths." Ayah nodded, filing this piece of wisdom away in her mind for later contemplation. "And if you must know, yes, I know a bit about Crows, something that the Chantry here in Antiva knows but doesn't like to mention in polite company. So keep it secret for me, _passerota_ , eh? Don't need word going around that Liborio has been up to his old tricks."

"You have still not answered my question. Are you attempting to distract me?"

"Yes, I am," Liborio laughed, "is it working?"

"I am experiencing impatience," Ayah drawled. "Are you, or are you not still affiliated with the Antivan Crows?"

"That, my dear, is a very good question." The Maestro stepped back and began to pace in front of Ayah, who waited patiently in silence for the answer to the question. She had already asked the question twice and had yet to receive a satisfactory answer; there was no need to repeat it, since she was certain that Liborio had understood her, and that he was stalling. She could not comprehend why such a simple question required such a complicated answer. Perhaps the Maestro gave complicated answers because he, himself, was a complex human.

"You are a strange, conflicted man, Maestro," Ayah surmised, after a few seconds of silence, in which Liborio still had not answered her question. Ayah suspected though that he was indeed a Crow, regardless if it was confirmed or not. He was clearly dodging the subject for whatever reason, but the truth was fairly obvious. She decided that she much preferred dealing with people like Delaney and Cullen, who were at least honest about their intentions with her and didn't go out of their way to attempt to confuse her. Truly, this was a nuisance Ayah Surana did not need.

Liborio replied wryly, "Indeed, I am."

"Yes. I just said so. Why did the Chantry hire you to tutor me?"

"Well aren't you feeling curious today, eh _passerota?_ If it weren't for that brand, I'd almost say you remind me of myself at your age. Let me give you a word to the wise when you're dealing with Crows: questions get you killed."

Ayah processed this. It was not spoken in a threatening tone, but she recognized the violence in his words as some type of veiled threat to her own, or some imaginary, person. But, why would Liborio threaten her? He had expressed fondness for her before. Unless it was merely a warning. Why were questions dangerous? Nonetheless, she took his advice - conflict was not her motive - and ceased in her questioning, instead turning towards leading and probing statements: "You speak with the weight of experience."

Liborio laughed at that, accused her of being persistent and annoying (in a joking manner), and then dismissed Ayah. The Maestro was indeed a complicated man. Ayah didn't like complications. She was made to disseminate the complicated things in the world, and make them small and simple to manage. She was barely starting to understand that there were some things that it was just impossible to do that with, and the realization of that was vexing in the extreme.

Ayah Surana continued to pester her mentor with ill-disguised questions after each of her combat lessons in the following weeks. She learned quite a bit, even though Master Liborio answered literally none of her questions. It was in the way he dodged her questions that she began to deduce the answers herself. She considered the possibility that perhaps this, too, was a lesson he was teaching her.

Upon reflection, she learned why it was that Antiva City was so dangerous at dark, which was good. That mystery had been bothering her for weeks. She had not known of the existence of the Crows until Liborio had made mention; after some investigation of her own, she determined without venturing outdoors that the Crows in Antiva functioned in the capital city as a sort of crime syndicate - except legal and even endorsed by the royalty. The city's streets at dark were not dangerous if you were in league, or in, with the Crows; but for any who did not wish to cross their path or become involved in their criminal dealings, the night was dangerous. She learned from overhearing some of the templars talking, when they thought she wasn't listening, that there were pockets of Antiva City that were loud with revelry all night and into dawn, taverns and brothels and such, and figured that the Crows must also have control over those things - given that they were profitable businesses, and any crime syndicate that was run with half a brain would know how to profit from such things. It was simple economics. No one ever mentioned the government of Antiva in conversation, and after reading a few books about Antiva's royal family and political process, Ayah surmised that Antiva's nobility were far too convoluted and silly to maintain effective governance. Thus, the Crows existed and stepped in as not only a guild of assassins, but a shadow government. So intimately were this guild and the government that the two could not be distinguished from one another, in writing or rumor.

She had read about them, these Crows, and in her readings had stumbled upon the realization out that the Maestro was no ordinary Crow, and most likely had been a Master Crow or even the guildmaster at some point, which they seemed to call Talons. It was simply logic. The Crows were an assassins' guild. A group of professional mercenaries who were renowned to buy slaves, train them in their ways, and send them out into the world to kill people for profit. The average life expectancy of a professional killer is not long. No assassin dies of old age. Yet, Liborio was an aged man, but still in clearly good shape - which would mean that he didn't get to the age he was at by being easy to kill. In a kill-or-be-killed environment such as the guild of the Crows, you had to be more than merely exceptional at your profession in order to live to the Maestro's age. Upon realizing this, Ayah wondered at the idea that a former Crow _Maestro_ had been coaching her in combat for over a year. One did not retire from a guild of assassins, especially one as ruthless as the Crows. She could not describe the sensation it evoked in her.

She had yet to figure out exactly why, though, Liborio was teaching her. That was the question that had been bothering her the most. Why had the Chantry taken him in? Or had he gone to the Chantry for asylum? How had the Chantry secured him as her teacher? Had they hired him, like any other? Liborio refused to talk and Ayah could not deduce a satisfactory answer from his mannerisms.

After two weeks, a few other things began to bother her about the whole scenario. Yes, she wanted to know the Maestro's past, where exactly he had come from, and _why_. Unexpectedly, her curiosity over her mentor's origins evoked a curiosity in Ayah about her own origins. Why was she different? _Why_ was she questioning these things? _Why_ had her old self allowed Tranquility to happen to her? She found her state of being acceptable, but a new, illogical line of questioning began somewhere in her, and it demanded the origins of her current state of being. She was aware of the circumstances of her being made Tranquil, and was aware the crimes committed by the mage she used to be. What bothered her was why her mind seemed intent on focusing on them so much, on making her remember those things. _Why_ was she dwelling? She did not know, and it was annoying and distracting. The thoughts and memories would come, unbidden, to irk her no matter what she focused on. Combat training was her only solace from her thoughts.

While she was being irritated and distracted by her own thoughts, a person bumped into Ayah as she made her way through the Chantry. The idea that she could have been so lost in her own thoughts so as not to be aware of the people around her was uncomfortable. She found herself genuinely startled, for the first time since she began.

"My sincerest apologies, _sorella_ ," said a young, male tenor in a thick Antivan accent. Ayah Surana stared up into the face of a parishioner in peasant garb. He was only slightly taller than her, but his skin was tanned from time spent outside. The body that had collided into her own was lean and supple, with clearly defined musculature. While the clothes that this man wore were simple and rough, everything else about him was far from it. His hair shined in the candle-light; well-maintained, and the color of hay in the sun. Ayah could not help but stare, fascinated, as her mind immediately reeled back to Cullen without her consent. _I like this color._ "Forgive me, I did not see you there," the man went on, disrupting Ayah's brain's momentary lapse. The man suddenly went silent, as he no doubt had seen the brand upon her forehead, determining that she was no Sister. True, Ayah did occasionally don the black and gold robes characteristic of the Chantry Sisters, it was only out of convenience. She had no belongings of her own - only what the Chantry gave her. When she lived in the Tower, she was given old apprentice robes to wear, or whatever else wasn't be used at the time. Clothing didn't matter. Only the work that needed to be done mattered. The only reason she bothered donning clothes at all was because people told her she had to, and she was conditioned to obey. (She was unbothered by nudity, even preferred it, for clothes restricted movement.)

Ayah, in the space of the few seconds of silence after the parishioner's eyes had alighted on her brand, took the time to observe the individual that had interrupted her thoughts and reminded her inadvertently of Cullen. Other than the color of his hair, which upon second thought was a different shade of blond than the templar's, there was no physical resemblance. The man's eyes left her brand then and traveled down to her own, staring. Ayah stared back, liquid jet meeting jasper.

"You are an elf," she noticed.

The man's eyes, which Ayah noted were almost the same color as the candles in the Chantry itself, slid away from Ayah's gaze and fixated on something else on her face. It seemed as if he were trying to avoid her eyes, or possibly avoid staring at her brand. "The ears must have given me away," he said, his tone light and at odds with his wary posture. Ayah cocked her head to the side, examining the man more closely. He was not Cullen, yet he was interesting. As were the twin lines of ink that slid down his temple to his chin. Ayah had never seen a tattoo before.

"I have never met another elf, since I began," she clarified. "Nor have I ever seen a tattoo on a face. Did it hurt? I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. I am told that I often make others uncomfortable when I stare at them. Discomforting you was not my intention; I was merely studying your appearance."

The man smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes, once more reminding Ayah Surana of the curious templar she had left behind in Ferelden. "Ah, no harm done at all. And if it did hurt, I cannot remember. I've never seen a brand on someone's forehead before, such as it is. It most likely hurt worse than my own mark. Perhaps you should be the one forgiving _me_ for staring so rudely. I must be going, however, though it has been a pleasure to bump into you." And with that, the strange elf left.

Ayah was … surprised, but not in unpleasant way, that this odd elven male would mention her brand so casually. Some seemed to take pains to avoid mentioning it in conversation - others avoided conversation entirely. This man did neither. Either he was very bold, or very rude. Whichever, he had been unafraid. Ayah was ill-equipped to deal with someone who was bold or rude, and thus could only stare after the elf's retreating form as he exited the Chantry. Perhaps, if she met him again, she would ask him why he was unafraid of her. Part of her wanted - _needed -_ to understand why. _Why?_

She told no one of the strange elf she had met yet, not even Delaney. No, there was no necessity in bothering others with the trivialities of her day. _There was nothing trivial about him. He was no ordinary elf._ She wanted to study him further, and found herself calculating the statistical possibility of the elf attending the Chantry again the next day. However, it was fruitless, as she knew next to nothing about the man save his tattoo - not even his name. (If she ever did see him again, she would pry a name from him for certain.)

She could not shake the odd encounter from her mind all day, no matter her efforts. She found her mind, against her volition, slipping back to reexamine her memories of the strange elf, even during training. Why? Her _Maestro_ asked after her performance during the day, when their training was done. He seemed to think she was physically ill. She could not fault him for such an assumption - Tranquil did not become distracted. Ayah was always focused on her task - in her life, the task was all that mattered. Thoughts and curiosities were only to be indulged when the task was finished. Without really knowing _why_ , she told him that she did feel slightly ill, and assured him that after eating and resting, she would feel better. He ceased his line of questioning, which was amicable to her.

It did not occur to Ayah til she laid down for sleep that night that she had told her first real, convincing lie. Even what she had told the Knight-Commander during her examination was not technically a lie. Not like this. She felt like the lie didn't matter; it being such a little thing.

* * *

[A fate worse than death.]

_[The Tranquil are tools.]_

_**[By the broadest definition of the term, they are conscious.]** _

* * *

"Zev!" He turned his head to that wonderful sound, and his eyes alighted upon his favorite sight in the world. Rinnala, waving and grinning that wicked smile of hers, with the perpetually-smirking Taliesen at her side. Surely there were times when his life and existence had been dreadful, but his two partners made the dreadful parts less so.

Zevran Arainai threw out his arms and grinned, greeting his two favorite people. "Ah, my lovelies. Eager for my return?"

"We didn't know when you'd be back," Rinna said, still smiling but sounding nonchalant.

"So we ate without you," Talisen finished, looking entirely unapologetic.

Zevran held a hand over his heart and mocked distress. "Rinnala, tell me this is not true?" The elf-blooded girl shrugged, and rolled her eyes. "My friends… you wound me. Next you'll tell me you took my prize dagger!"

"Well, no, but I did borrow it when I needed to pick my teeth," she teased. "And I may or may not have used it to trim Tali's hair earlier."

Talisen rubbed a pleased hand over his dark, short hair. "She did a fine job, too."

"Traitors, both of you!"

"And I used a wool brush to un-polish your boots," Talisen went on, "because I could."

"Will the betrayals never end?"

Rinna smirked, sending a thrill up Zevran's spine. "Well, we are assassins," she purred. She crossed the room and slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him into a warm embrace. Her lips traced the shell of Zevran's ear, drawing a low growl out of the back of his throat. "It is in our nature, _mio bello. Io e Taliesen vi siete persi…_ "

Zevran turned in her arms to face his Rinna. " _Vai, avanti._ "

Taliesen, ever the voice of reason, wondered, "Do we have time for this?"

Zevran turned to his partner and smiled, all while his fingers swiftly and deftly loosened the laces on Rinna's top.. "There is always time for this." Rinna echoed Zevran and reached out to Taliesen, drawing the Antivan in, completing the circle. In a life where he was allowed so few liberties, this one was precious to Zevran above all others. He would never be able to feel enough of his Rinna, or his Tali; in moments like these, when their bodies entwined in breathless ecstasy . . . skin against skin . . . he felt for a few moments that he was free. It was only a touch - a taste - of freedom, true, but it meant everything in the moment.

Additionally, fucking before a kill had become traditional for the three. A sort of baptism, before the hunt. There was also the post-kill celebration to look forward to. Really, Zevran would take any excuse he could find to celebrate, and the more the merrier.

* * *

Ayah was occasionally allowed to eat alone. This was mostly out of convenience - sometimes, if her training sessions were late in the day and went past dinner, she would be required to find sustenance on her own. She was deemed responsible enough to do so without supervision. Traditionally, ate with her guardian templar, Delaney.

It was during one of those dinners with the Knight-Lieutenant that Ayah found herself burdened with curiosity again. She was starting to annoy herself with this. She knew Delaney was more likely to indulge her than the other templars, so she felt safe in unburdening her curiosity upon him. The only other person she allowed herself to express her curiosity towards was the Maestro, but his answers to her questions were often misleading, or full of hidden meanings. Delaney was not so artful, and typically meant the things that he said, for which she valued his presence. His straightforward nature was a constant that she had been able to rely upon.

Ayah put her fork down on her plate and politely dabbed her mouth with a napkin. "May I ask you a few questions, Knight-Lieutenant?" She asked him.

He looked up from his corned beef and flashed her a brief smile. He held his fork, eating-interrupted. "Of course. What is it?"

"Do you have a tattoo?"

His face scrunched up in a strange expression that Ayah had difficult placing on her inner scale of emotion. It looked similar to constipated. "That's an odd ques- er, yeah, I've got one on my arm. My brother and I have matching ones, we got 'em when we were boys. It's a mabari." He put down the fork and rolled up his left sleeve to reveal a dark blue interpretation of a Ferelden mabari warhound. It resembled Chasind artwork - more expressive than accurate, comprised of twisting lines ending in sharp points. Ayah wondered the purpose of having a thing on your arm that was not accurate - further more, of having a thing like that on your arm in the first place, but that was not what she was curious about today.

She stared at the blue dog on Delaney's arm until he rolled his sleeve, slowly. Her eyes traveled up and met the templar's, and she identified the expression finally as utter confusion. "Did it hurt?" She wondered.

He shrugged. "We were pretty drunk when we got 'em. Still, it hurt quite a lot - they have to do it slow, dot by dot, by poking you with an inked up needle. Sometimes pain is worth it, for the outcome. Why'd you ask about tattoos?"

"Why would someone get at tattoo on their face?" She wondered, instead of answering his questions. After all, he had given her permission to do so - she had not done the same for him.

"Er, ah." Delaney didn't seem to know. Ayah huffed in disappointment, but Delaney went on. "Well, tribal ones are common in Ferelden. I've seen nobles with marks on their faces - symbolic, mostly, some just cosmetic. I-it's a rare place to get a tattoo, all the same. Tattoos, for the most part, are mementos - they usually mean something significant to the person. So, someone would get one on their face because they wanted to remember something, or someone. Or maybe it's a rite of passage, like how the Chasind mark themselves when they become adults."

Ayah was going to have to learn to reserve her judgment about the Knight-Lieutenant. He was full of interesting information. "I see." She nodded. "Thank you, Delaney." Out of courtesy, she went on: "To answer your earlier query, I asked because I met an elf in the Chantry with long marks down the sides of his face, from the temple to the jawline, tracing his cheekbone." She ran her hand down the side of her face for a visual demonstration. "I have never seen a tattoo on a face like that before, and wanted to know more about them. His was very interesting looking. It did not detract from his appearance, but rather, made him stand out. I wondered if this was the reason why he received those markings - to differentiate himself from the others of his kind. I have heard of the elves of the Dales who had a tradition of marking themselves in peculiar ways, but this elf was distinctly Antivan."

Delaney went on and mumbled about how facial tattoos weren't all that uncommon, and started poking his corned beef with his fork with a hungry look.

Still, Ayah went on, unable or unwilling (she wasn't sure which) to stop herself from voicing her thoughts on the matter, the same matter she'd found herself lying about earlier without really knowing why: "When I spoke with him, he drew a comparison to the brand on my forehead. He had never seen one before, just like I had never seen a tattoo. He did not seem frightened by my brand. I have always seen signs of discomfort in others when the subject of Tranquility is brought to the table." True to form, Ayah saw Delaney shifting uncomfortably in his seat when she brought up the word Tranquil. It was the same in every person. Even Cullen was no exception, although his reactions were more aggressive when the subject was brought up. The elf in the Chantry hadn't been afraid, though, had he? _He looked away. Don't you remember?_ "It was odd. I have been unable to remove it from my mind. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable with this subject. I will not interrupt your meal further."

Delaney seemed grateful for the release, and happily returned to his food, all the while giving her sidelong looks that she politely pretended not to notice.

 _He's afraid of you. Delaney's your guardian, and he's afraid of what you are._ (You're no one.)

Ayah Surana stared down at her dinner in dispassion. Everything tasted unappetizing. She may as well have been eating a hat with gravy on it. Something about that thought made a strange light feeling erupt in her gut. Uncomfortable with the experience, she went back to eating her tasteless dinner and silenced her own thoughts on the matter. She had too many other things to focus on to dither her time away.

"Does it bother you that much?"

The silence at the table had been so pleasant that it actually felt like a jolt, to Ayah, when it was broken. She put her fork down a little too harshly, by mistake, and looked up to see Delaney staring at her. She processed what he had just said to her. His eyebrows were knitted together, either in concentration, or concern. She couldn't tell the difference between the two expressions. "I do not understand what you mean," she told him honestly.

"Sure you do," he insisted around a mouthful of corned beef. Although polite table manners had been hammered into her, she did not possess the capacity to care about Delaney's own appalling table manners. "I mean, you notice everything, don't you? You're always watching people, so you notice things about them that others don't, because they don't think you're watching. It just doesn't go the other way around. And it's because of that brand." He pointed at her forehead with a fork. She confessed to being a little startled by the Knight-Lieutenant's frankness. So many others simply dodged the subject. Once more, she was grateful for his blunt nature. "People are afraid of it, afraid to look you in the eye. They acknowledge you if they have to, but they don't talk with you much, because they don't know what you are, and they're scared of what they can't understand. That would bother anyone, even if they couldn't feel anything."

[ _ **But who would call that living?]**_ Ayah looked around for the source of the voice that had spoken those words in the Hall, but found no one but her and Delaney present. She rationalized that it had been someone out in an adjoining room, and filed the experience away as irrelevant.

Although she was impressed by Delaney's inference, he was wrong. She shook her head. "I am unbothered."

"If you say so." He once again returned to his meal, and she followed suit.

_I am unbothered. I only wish to know why._


End file.
